


Don't mind me.

by Delicate_Doll



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Injury, Child Neglect, Choking, Dehumanization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inappropriate Behavior, Inappropriate Workplace Behavior, Injury Recovery, Married Couple, Minor Character Death, Mudslides, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stabbing, Stalking, Toxic Relationship, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 60,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delicate_Doll/pseuds/Delicate_Doll
Summary: Hey this is a just a little something for my boys, don't mind me!Dear god almighty this has just become a place to put all my dumb bullshit. I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. Just have lot’s of ideas.
Kudos: 18





	1. In The Golden Afternoon

The late afternoon sunlight felt godly in the garden. The autumn was young yet, the worst heat of summer past but winds not yet chilling folks to the bone, or making an appearance at all most days. The leaves turned gentle colors still, soft oranges and reds mixed with the green instead of a mass of crisp brown, and the world was blessedly, peacefully, still. It was a good thing. 

It was a _good_ thing. 

It was odd sometimes, accepting that fact, but the change was welcome. 

There was an olive tree in the south corner, courtesy of a certain someone being a pest for three weeks straight ( _"You can't have a garden without at least_ one _tree, it's so plain then, you have to have dimension,_ height! _"_ ) and while it'd been an ugly little sapling, had grown into its branches quite nicely over the years. Decades actually, it had been there now for decades. 

Another odd thought. 

But not an unwelcome one either, the twisted tree held it's age with pride and grace, as trees were so prone. The shade was welcome, the perfume was welcome, the summer fruit was welcome (and enjoyed), and the silence it brought was deeply welcome. 

Not that it was quiet. Sitting underneath it one would find it was a noisy, playful thing. Leaves just couldn't seem to leave one another alone, birds were fond of the perfume almost as much as the resident elf was, and a constant thrum radiated from the trunk. 

_Here I am, I'm alive, I feel you there, I am here._

Somehow though, it wasn't a bother. Despite some ruthless teasing about his 'quiet time', Marshall enjoyed the noisy, _alive_ garden. He liked the stillness, he liked the (kinda) quiet, and after some work, liked _being_ still and quiet himself. It was okay. Surrounded by still and (sort of) quiet, he felt okay. Good even, now and again. 

Warm metal, having sat in the dabbled sunshine for... more than an hour. Maybe two. A golden leaf, resting proudly on his shoulder. It'd drifted down and taken its perch shortly after he settled in the roots. He didn't mind enough to shoo it off, limbs heavy with content. 

The warmth drifts down the metal of his chest, giving some vague idea of the time. Low on his midriff now... Two and a half hours then. Evening. He's been here longer than intended, but it's still not enough to rise him yet. He feels good. 

A sound cuts through the ambiance, startling in its abruptness. 

Marshall didn't startle, presence all too familiar. Ike Grail entered the not quite quiet time with a learned grace, and in several long strides was beside Marshall. Two moments later and he was seated as well, past conversations dictating his manners.

_("Don't loom, would you?")_

He was in his armor, more telling now than it'd been years ago. _Decades_ , right. More telling than it'd been decades ago. He'd probably been training someone, be it an old face or a new one. Filligree had been suspiciously quiet if Marshall had truly been here several hours, he could have tagged along for a session. It was a nice thought. 

A pauldron gently ruffed his shoulder. 

"How far off are you?"

"Not too far, anymore. Thanks for that."

Another few minutes of silence followed the soft laugh. Ike left his shoulder pressed to him, comfortable and familiar. 

"Have you seen him?"

"Not with you then?"

It was almost time to get up, and the ghosts of effort worked themselves into his joints to rise. Not quite yet, but almost. Ike hummed quietly, thoughtful. 

"You're helping me get up, a little sore."

"They're getting that good? Or are you getting old."

There was a shared moment of amusement, both of them sure of their answer, and the others answer as well, but not needing to say it aloud. 

Marshall stood first, practiced with the art of shaking out the stiffness, and did grab onto Ike's arm to help his up. He was _not_ familiar with that bit though, and a tree branch ended up bonking the man's head, to both of their embarrassment. It was a hit actually, a _good_ hit based on how hard the poor branch rattled. Between the tree and the fighter, the fighter was better suited to taking a hit and--

Shit. 

Between both of their reflexes, catching one (1) falling bard was child's play, but unlike Ike's entrance, Filligrees was quite startling. He ended up in Marshall's arms this time, stripped of all grace from the fall-- maybe sleep as well? Half his face was ribbed and indented and looking at the bark of the tree-- mhm. They had a match. He'd been lounging for quite a while as well then. 

" 's... Mh. It's time to go in?"

"Just about."

"Just thought I'd...y'know. Drop in."

He thinks he's remarkably clever. 

The elf replaces the small leaf on Marshall's shoulder, having heaved himself bodily up and Ike says something vaguely scolding about skipping commitments to him, but there was a definite lack of heat to the words. 

Carefully, they slipped out from beneath the olive tree. The evening sun dipped below the garden wall, throwing shadows and stale warmth all over the estate and for an odd moment, the (almost) silence faded to something very close to (dead) silence. For that moment something scary gripped each of them, entirely different in nature and yet ultimately the same-- and none of them let the feeling linger.

They earned the right to relax. To spend days at a time out of armor, to don it for the pleasure of challenge rather than necessity. To lounge for hours on end, unconcerned with petty things like the necessary. To be still, quiet, and at peace. 

Peace felt like an odd concept too, but one they all found themselves settling into nicely. 

The shadows stretched languidly, illuminating a path back to the new home. It still felt new at least. New and right and a kind of familiar that doesn't seem to contradict the newness at all. Filligree, on the walk back, started singing. Not asking for attention, too soft really, just there. 

They were okay. Odd, but then-- things had always been odd. In moments like this, moments that were becoming more and more commonplace, they were good as well.

That was enough. 


	2. Trouble and Trebles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two electric-- no wait I just didn't want to clutter up my dashboard with all these mini-works.

Lilith Gould sang a four-note tune, soft and sad, to no one in particular. 

She wasn't getting off the hook. 

Again, lilting the third note.

Absolutely not. 

Again, swapping first and third and adding a trill on fouth-- clever thing. 

Still not enough to buy her freedom though. 

She sat at the kitchen counter, chin in her hands, sulking. Lily was at the table, reading over a script and pointedly  _ not _ giving in to her daughters baiting. They'd be having a little talk as soon as her father came home, but for now both girls sat in silence. 

A new set completely, this time of three.

Almost silence.

At the tender age of 7, Lilith Gould was banned from the Lawsons Little League for fighting.  _ Fighting _ . Weighing in at exactly 43 pounds, barely up to her father's hip and too skittish to watch The Last Unicorn without him--  _ fighting! _ Lily honestly didn't know how to handle it, so she'd simply marched the girl home and told her to  _ wait.  _ Which, in fairness, Lilith was.

Staccato this time, though louder. 

She was just singing while she did it, and it was breaking Lily's resolve.

"Lilith."

The girl crossed her arms, laying her head down on the counter. It was almost 7, Jamison was behind. Better start on dinner. 

Thirty minutes later, Lilith hadn't picked up the song again. Somehow that was worse. 

Lily clicked off the phone, having ordered takeout. The remains of her first idea still smoldered in the bin, but Lilith hadn't even given her standard, gentle,  _ smug, _ 'You can try again tomorrow, Mommy'. It was unnerving at this point. Lily nudged her. She just curled in tighter. Right. With Jamison still nowhere in sight, Lily supposed  _ she _ could try damage control. 

It was... well it hadn't been much of a fight at all. Lily admittedly hadn't seen the start, (she was desperately trying to pay attention to a soccer mom about the benefits of... something) but she had seen Lilith go down. Hard. Lily was standing in an instant, and that was before a cleat embedded itself in her daughter's chest. Whether it was an accident was still unclear; Lilith was convinced of sabotage. She was also positive lunging at the other little girl was the only possible solution, and passionately plead her case in the car ride home. Lily wasn't convinced. 

But. But she did get hurt, and Lily maybe should have focused on that. Dammit, this was why Jamie was the favorite. 

"Lilith?"

Nothing still. 

"Baby bird?"

New tactic time. 

Something short and lilting, five easy notes.

Okay, okay, she can do better. 

A slight elongating of the middle few, cutting the end. Four now. 

Lilith picked up her head. 

A trill-- Lilith loved her trills. 

There! There's a smile, just need to keep up the momentum. She took it up an octave, juggling the notes. 

Lilith props her head up in one hand and sings the tune back. 

Lily takes it, changes a note, then passes it back. 

A note change-- Lilith has trouble with high A's, and she steers them both lower.

Something added, a rest then another at note at the tail end, warbling and dangerous. 

Lilith can't quite make it, though she tries earnestly. Her mother is quick to take it out for the next round.

Back and forth, back and forth. They spend twenty minutes like that, comfortable and cozy in the kitchen. Then, Lilith gasps in the middle of her turn, cutting through the daze as she quickly hops out of the chair and races across the room. Still a Daddy's girl, despite tender moments. 

"Songbirds," Jamison greets. He smiles at Lily, and she grins back as he scoops up Lilith. "Nightingale, and  _ Little bird! _ Did you win today darling?"

Lilith opens her mouth, but her mother is quicker.

"Lilith got into a fight today."

"Well, Sabrina needs to mind her children better, my Little bird doesn't like working with--"

"An  _ actual _ fight Jamie, with a girl on the opposing team."

"Oh.  _ Oh. _ " He says, wide-eyed. He looks down at Lilith in his arms, no longer drenched in sweat but thoroughly grass and dirt-stained. He pulls her jersey down a tad, eyeing the nasty bruise on her collarbone, but something odd passed over his face when they met eyes. They better not. The two of them were thick as thieves, and  _ something _ had just happened there. If Lily knew them--

"It looks like my Baby bird won anyway."

Fucking Christ, of course,  _ of course _ that's what they'd said. Lilith giggled in delight, and Jamison kissed her temple, wincing away when Lily popped him in the arm. This wouldn't stand-- she would  _ not _ be the bad guy  _ every _ time! Jamison cleared his throat.

"But- sweetheart you know that's not any way to solve a problem."

"She tripped me! And then  _ kicked _ me!" Lilith said, in almost a whine. Lily still wasn't sure if she was telling the truth, but Jamison was completely won over. Another glance down at his wife though, and he continued on sheepishly.

"Even so Little bird, you could have been hurt." Lilith opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts ahead, breaking out his serious tone. "You could have been hurt  _ worse,  _ fine. And you shouldn't have tried hurting someone else, Lilith."

"That's not how we treat people," Lily added, getting her childs chin in hand. "You know that."

Lilith was getting avoidant with guilt, but between her father's chest and her mother's stare, there was nowhere to hide. Somewhere between sorry and hurt, she mumbled out an apology.

"Don't apologize to us Lilith, just do better."

" _ Be _ better." Jamison corrected. 

A few moments of silence-- then a tiny nod.

With that, she got a kiss on the forehead and was released, at least from Lily's hold. Jamison held onto the girl, and most likely wouldn't set her down until it was time for bed. It was a miracle she ever learned to walk in the first place. 

Jamison looked over the trash bin, holding his girl almost protectively at the sight of the mess and wincing slightly. 

"So... take out tonight?"

"I've already called in."

Lilith, bolstered by the proximity and height of her partner in crime, grinned like the cheeky thing she was.

"You can try again tomorrow, Mommy"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Famous and adored for her skill  
> (But he's the better actor of the two)  
> Love stuck, lovely and warm-- wait, wait Jamie--  
> (With an annoyed sigh, he goes for the kill)


	3. Lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hrm...

"--You're knocking down villains left and right, defending the innocent defeating the cruel, the whole shebang, it's incredible, an  _ actual _ hero for the times. Supposedly."

Like a master-- like a  _ bard _ , she'd struck a chord. The knight finally gave her his full attention, looking away from his stein and narrowing his eyes. " _ Supposedly? _ "

Octavia had been quick to look nonchalant after her comment, fingers stroking over the strings of her violin. "Hm? I'm sorry my lord, what was that?"

"You said supposedly-- what's there to wonder, Drow." Having all his attention was a tad scary; best make this maneuver a speedy one. 

"Oh. Well, it's the manner of gentlemen and fools alike to boast, your story was lovely but..." She flicked her eyes up to his. Faster. "I mean it with no disrespect, but I've heard a merchant talk up his wares more eloquently than you told your tale. I believe you, honest, but the delivery could use some work. Sir." 

He looked unsure if he should take offense for a few moments, and Octavia uses the time to swivel in her seat, facing the majority of the tavern now-- not the bar. Open chest and stomach, shoulders back, friendly smile. Should the hero be angry a patron would quickly come to her aid, if one were to approach it would show she had fans. Tricky tricky, he just had to bite. 

"Not everyone is quite so versed in, well,  _ verse,  _ Dove." That was a good sign, a marked improvement from  _ Drow.  _ She made a point to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, batting her lashes. Come on lucky number 3, quit nibbling and  _ bite. _

"You flatter me, I've only dreamed of going on an adventure like some of yours..."

He tilted his head, smiling wolfishly at her. Come on.

"Why haven't you?" He nodded to the rapier on her hip. Octavia laughed airily, hand over her mouth to hide the frown. 

"You'll laugh."

"I don't laugh at ladies."

"You'll laugh!"

"Dove."

She made a show of eyeing him over, flush coming to her cheeks. 

"It's just... decoration really" A dangerous lie if she would ever have to assist him. Despite all appearances, Octavia didn't  _ do _ purely decorative; her sword was no exception. "I don't want to look defenseless, it's hard to be a bard these days. It just makes me feel safer." Come  _ on _ big boy, she was making it easy. 

"You'd be safe with me."

_ There it was _ . It was work not to pump her fist. Instead, she bats her eyes.

"Huh?"

"I've got a contact with the neighboring town for some extermination work, and I wouldn't mind company in your flavor, Dove."

"I could write something for you! A hero's tale proper, as thanks." she says, perhaps a tad too excited. Lucky number 3, she'll get a muse at last! He's the right shape too-- gleaming in his armor with a noble face and heavyset shoulders and blue-- blue right-- yup blue eyes that'll be perfect for poetry. If he notices her revving, he doesn't comment, ordering another round of drinks for the two of them. 

The tavern keep makes the mistake of sliding the stiens over, they catch a nitch in the grain and both go tumbling. Mhm. That seems about right. 

"I should retire now, sir. You're staying here as well?"

"I've not yet purchased a room, but one will surely be available." He looked at her with meaning then, but Octavia would be extending no generous offers tonight. He wasn't  _ that  _ handsome. 

"I'll see you tomorrow then for breakfast, we can talk again before departing. Thank you  _ so _ much." Never hurts to gush a little afterward either, the deal wasn't sealed until they left together after all.

The night went by roughly but quick enough (A floorboard loose here and there making her stumble, roof leaky in just the right places, noisy neighbors, etc. The usual.) but Octavia and Lucky number 3 made just as fine company in the daylight. Soon, they were off.

And then. 

All too soon, not even ten miles outside of town, Octavia drug herself out of a mudslide, hands and knees. A mudslide. In Falling Stars Moon, a  _ mudslide _ . Fate was getting creative. 

Do a check. 

Violin. A single string had snapped, but scraping off the muck Octavia could see no other damage was present. Lucky.

Her rapier has stayed true on her hip, though in the fuss its scabbard had given out. That would explain the wound on her leg then, dammed thing. Wait--no. It could have been somewhere more important. Lucky. 

Her pack was largely ruined, but she could limp back to town-- breakfast had been big on Lucky number 3s coin. Oh. Right. 

Lucky number 3.

Octavia glanced back to the ruined road, the mud still viscously tearing its way down the mountain. Guess it was time for lucky number 4 then, a more worthy muse. She'd get a good adventurers tale if it killed her.

** *************** **

"You have a family, don't you?"

Too soon, she didn't want to talk about herself so soon. They'd made it to day four, a good sign, but Lucky number 7 was so much smaller than all the rest. But then, she was Octavia's favorite so far and had such kind eyes. Human, but that couldn't be helped.

"I do." 

"You went on a whole spiel against a type of stew not an hour ago, don't get shy on me now, Octavia." Number 7 said her name more often than all the others combined. It was... It was nice. 

"What if they're awful? What if you're making me remember something awful from my deep, dark past, hm?"

"Are they awful?"

"No."

"Am I making you relive something from your deep, dark past?"

"No."

"Then tell me! I'll be insufferable for the rest of the journey-- don't think I won't!" Octavia suddenly found herself with an arm over her shoulder. They'd been sitting close before, chitchatting over a dimming fire, but Electra-- er -- Number 7 had cozied up even closer. Her mouth pressed into Octavias hair, she whined out "Pleeeeease."

Hold it,  _ hold it _ the puff of air tickled her ear that wasn't  _ fair--  _ Number 7 was fighting dirty. Might as well throw her a bone, at least to get it to stop. 

"I have a father and five younger siblings."

Number seven grinned, looking eagerly for more. She didn't remove her arm, and Octavia didn't ask her to. 

"Dads a tailor and at the ripe age of 600 _ still  _ hasn't learned a great appreciation for the arts, as I have."

"I've always considered a tailors work to be an art?"

"Well,  _ my _ kind of art then."

"Odd."

"Very. There's nothing to say past that really--"

"I think I could have guessed you had siblings." Number 7 said, cutting her off. She was looking at Octavia with an...  _ odd  _ expression.

"Are you being mean to me?"

A flush, and Number 7 stuttered out her next words, looking away. "Not at all, Octavia! I'm serious. I've got a little brother, sometimes you can just tell. That and, er-- I saw the little spat in the port. In Cavesmend?"

Octavia had gotten demolished by approximately four teenage boys. 

"You saw me get demolished by a group of teenagers?"

"Er-- I'm sorry I didn't intervene but the teifling was all over me and by the time I'd calmed him down--"

"It's okay." Of course he'd had found the first hero near after running away. She'd had been a little too preoccupied to soothe anyone. "I'm glad you helped him."

"I'm glad you did too, Octavia." There was a question there, but it never found it's way into the air. 

"I just... I don't like bullies much at all."

This time, Octavia was the one to scoot closer. Lucky number 7 was the only charge thus far to seek  _ her _ out. She liked that too. Close-- closer-- not close enough. 7 lost her nerve, red in the cheeks as she cleared her throat and looked away. Damn it. 

She popped a nut into her mouth, offering the bag to Octavia. Hard pass, after all the butterflies they wouldn't settle well on her stomach. 

"How much farther until we hit the mine? Pardon the enthusiasm, but I'm ready to go. Dragons, mystery and--" Number 7 removed her arm. "--... whatnot." Octavia finished lamely. Yikes. 

There were a few long moments of silence, and Octavia couldn't bring herself to look at her new muse. This was getting painful, why wasn't she saying something? 

"Electra?" 

A hand gripped her shoulder, and Octavia turned to see her hero was a color most humans don't naturally go. Oh. Well, that explained it. 

The hero fell back into the dirt, grip on Octavia's shoulder sliding off and mouth gasping. Oh! Oh shit, she should do something about that, the woman's choking to death! She learned the Heimlich maneuver after Number 6 for this reason exactly.

Except Octavia couldn't preform it-- her heroes breastplate was in the way. Number 7 gagged pathetically as she was rolled onto her side, gripping her throat as Octavia clawed at her sides for the release. The stupid fucking latch was jammed-- it happened every now again on this brand of armor but it was  _ stuck _ and her muse was dying because of it. Fuck fuck  _ fuck _ not two chokers in a row, _ please _ this was  _ embarrassing.  _

Lucky hero number 7 quit struggling, lips turning soft blue. Her bard watched her go, shedding no tears. Privately, after she'd collected all the supplies she could carry and hiked for as long as she could manage back to town, she'd wail. For now though, she just clicked open her violin case. Number 7 had been nice, she deserved a send-off. 

****

** *************** **

"Are you awake?"

God damn it. 

Octavia sat up, grumpy and tired. It was raining, loud and needy outside the little tent, and she'd been moments away from drifting off. Number 9 had awful timing like that. 

"Close enough, what do--" She yawned, then startled. He was wedged oddly into her tent, not speaking outside as she had thought. It made sense, with how the weather was, but he was just... close. 

"I apologize for the intrusion, I just wanted to check on you, Miss. It's getting bad out there."

He needed to back up. 

"Thank you very much, you just startled me a tad, sir." She said, laughing a little. Shoulders back, chest forward but an arm over it, holding her shoulder. Friendly, confident, but a dash of nerves. Back up. "It's rude to just--  _ walk in _ on a lady." 

"You'll have to forgive my manners."

She wouldn't, but smiled anyway. No teeth, head to one side, leaned back. "Mhm." Back up, you're on thin ice, you're _ looming. _

He reached out to tuck a stray hair away, touch lingering in a long pet up one ear. "Octavia, was it?"

Was that a bad line or did he seriously not remember after traveling with her for a week. Tsk tsk, Number 9. She'd remembered his. 

"Sir?" He shifted closer to her, hand finding her waist. Quickly now. "Thank you for checking on me, but I'm fine. We both should try and find rest tonight."

As if nothing had been said at all, his hand slid to her back, and she was moved closer. She didn't care for that. Head back, shoulders rising, defensive but not-- whoa! That was  _ not _ an invitation for his mouth on her neck-- enough. 

She shoved him. Delicate build or not, it was enough for him to release her. He looked some kind of shocked. Oh. The snarl on her face was quickly replaced with something softer, maybe scared? No that wouldn't do, embarrassed, be embarrassed. 

"I think you should go."

Dammit, that was too firm for embarrassed, get it together girl. He might--

"I didn't do anything."

Get defensive. And that was bad for everyone. 

"It's just--"

He grabbed her arm, and her decision was made. He wouldn't back off-- she would have to. It'd be a pain to go back now, this needs to work. One more day, just one more day of this and they'd hit their destination. He'd kill slay whatever it was that needed slaying, she'd write her song and be gone. She stood up, yanked her arm back, and quickly exited the tent. 

Oh. Right. It was raining.

Lightning lit up the sky, and Octavia drug a hand down her face. Just her fucking luck. 

Concern, worry, something protective and angry. 

She was... she didn't know what she was doing. Maybe this wasn't actually worth it, she couldn't go tonight but... but it was only one more day. She didn't  _ need _ to travel back with Number 9. Once the weather let up--

"Hey!"

All at once, she hit the ground. Number nine had been the tallest, and though Octavia usually had to look up to him this was... bad. This was exceptionally bad. 

Right as things went from bad to worse, there was a flash of light, and Number 9 was collapsing face down in the mud beside her. 

Octavia stayed very still. 

What the fuck. 

She sat up slowly, ears ringing and pinned flat against her head. She looked at Number 9. Number 9 appeared to be smoldering. She quickly looked away from Number 9. After the rain had thoroughly soaked through her bones and then some, she crawled back to her tent. She'd make the week's journey back, take some me-time, then hunt for Number 10. Double digits now. That had to be lucky. Lucky number 10. 

** *************** **

"A hawk seems... excessive."

"It's not. Get your crossbow ready."

"I thought you were joking about that?"

"Well, I wasn't. Get ready."

One last check of her little messenger, then she'd let him go. The straps of his harness were new, but not too new to as to chafe. She'd made very sure at the market the bird could hand the weight of her chosen luggage. The sky didn't have a trace of wind in it, and the air would be clear for days to come. Plenty of time to make it home. 

"You be good, straight there and then report back, do you hear me? They need you, handsome, don't you  _ dare _ let me down."

The hawk looked blankly at her. She leaned in close to his regal head. He did not shift away, and she seemed to find pleasure in that. Satisfied at last, she loaded his bag with coin. Number 12 smiled at her, and she grinned nervously back. With a flourish, she cast the hawk off, and he immediately took to the air with great vigor. 

"Most people use doves, you know."

"How nice for them."

Number 12 nudged at her, and she snapped her teeth at him, making the man laugh. He was of her kind, and reminded her dearly of her little brother-- despite their actual ages. They watched her hawks path from their mountain perch, sitting comfortably side by side. 

"Why no doves, Dove?"

"What'd I say?"

"Ask all the questions you'd like and I'll answer honestly, earnestly and enthusiastically?" He thought he was oh-so-charming. Octavia did too, just not in the same way. Boyish, sweet, protective. He'd make a fine legend when the deed was done. 

"I do believe you're misquoting me!"

"No, no I don't think I am Octavia! I have quite the memory; it's never failed me."

She punched his arm, laughing and making a fuss of being hurt on his armor. A few more minutes of rough play, and eventually she squealed out a surrender. 

"Fine! Fine-- get off you brute you'll get your way." He did pull away from her, grinning like he'd already bested the griffon nest, the ham. She blew air at his ear, and he kept laughing as she spoke. "Doves are too delicate! Not only must they carry a lighter load, it seems like every predatory bird for miles would take interest in my messages and swoop in--" She raised a tall hand above his head, then dived down to pop his neck "-- and take them down. Every time... So. Hawks."

"Well." He turned to face the woods again, eyes scanning for her bird. "That was one fine messenger. And he won't dare fail, not with that fine speech you gave before sending him off. Your words truly inspire, fair bard."

Octavia looked out as well, spotting the now tiny hawk on the horizon. He'd be the one to make it. She hoped Number 12 would be the one to make it as well. Almost 3 weeks, a new record. She laid her head on his shoulder. 

Something gold and massive erupted from the trees. Hero and bard were both on their feet in an instant. The hawk gave one warning call before the giant collided with it, taking it down. The air was clear then as if neither had existed at all. 

"Was that a--"

"Griffin, come on if we hurry we can still track it-- I thought for sure they'd be in the mountains it's incredible-- ."

They'd already been packed and ready to go, but true also they were halfway up a cliff. They were both quick climbers, both thin and nimble creatures, but one misstep and--

" _ Eldwin! _ "

He probably hadn't felt a thing. The rocks underneath him crumbling, maybe. Not the ground though. She could tell, even from as high up as she was, his neck was snapped. That was a painless way to go-- wasn't it? 

Don't think about it.

It was a painless way to go. 

Unable to continue climbing with the shaking in her limbs, Octavia found a ledge big enough to for her to sit just so. 

Something apologetic found her, and that broke the dam. 

Octavia stayed there for a while, spilling tears for and onto her lucky hero number 12. When her fingers allowed it, she unclasped her violin case. Another hero, kind and true, lost before the adventure began. Lining up her bow, something akin to doubt hit her. 12 times now. She hadn't liked all of them, as she liked Number 12, but it was still a high body count. Maybe...

At the first sound of her strings, the nerves disappeared. She wasn't a quitter. 

Just have to be a little more careful with Lucky number 13. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are again.


	4. Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> please dear god don't look at me

"You can't be serious."

"I am. You know I am."

"I was giving you a chance to back down, Comet. You can still take it." It sounded almost like a question. Lilith didn't look away from her computer. Adam snapped in front of her face a few times, making her huff, but still, her focus stayed on the screen. "Pretty girl?"

"What?"

"'I think you should consider what you just said."

"I don't need to."

He grabbed her jaw and tilted up her head, forcing it back to look at him. She shoved him off her desk, where he'd been sitting. She hates when he sits on her desk. He hits his head on the wall, and she giggles as she resumes typing. It takes a few moments for Adam to recover, and when he does he speaks slowly. 

"Perfection doesn't exist."

"Not yet it doesn't. Give me time."

"Comet--"

"Do I need to ask you to leave, Mutt? I'm trying to work."

"At the very least perfection can't be achieved by..." Her fingers freeze over the keyboard. He'd better not. "Such a flawed species." Okay, better than she'd thought he'd go for. "You're part of that flawed species." Tch. There it was. 

He rose, dusting himself off and standing over her. It was almost worse than sitting on the desk, crushing reports. He idled a few moments, watching as she threw lines up on the screen. Lilith didn't mind the looming presence-- it helped her work quickly and error-free when someone was there watching. She just didn't like that it was  _ him.  _ No matter what she was doing, without fail, he'd slip in something useless and annoying. A minute and a half now, he was behind schedule-- 

"Why are you using that format?" There it was. 

"Sit."

"What do we say?"

" _ Now _ , Mutt."

He moved closer to the desk to settle and she snapped at the chair. Tail between his legs, he went.

"Tell me something you don't like about yourself." She looked up. That wasn't the usual heckling. He grinned wider. "Since we're on the topic of perfection and all. You're masquerading as a human, humans have flaws. As lovely as you are..." He looked her up and down as he trailed off, and Lilith had to clear her throat for him to refocus. Pervert. "Right, sorry. I think it would do you well to have a flaw ready to spill. Makes people more sympathetic to your case."

"That's pathetic, Mutt."

"I have a daughter."

She blinked at him. His smile grew.

"She lives in Oregan right now with her mom. Turned 8 last Friday." 

"Adam--" she started, but he held up a hand. 

"Don't interrupt, I'm giving an example Comet. I said I was going to call her that day when I woke up. I didn't. I moved it to my lunch break. I didn't. The evening then-- and you remember what I was doing last Friday evening." Of course she did. It was hard to forget, still stung every time she moved her arms. 

"You didn't call."

"I didn't call. I thought about it all day-- even when those long legs were wrapped around my ears--" Lilith huffs and crosses her arms with the comment. "--But I didn't. I'm just a coward like that." 

Lilith stared at him for a while, file forgotten on her computer. Adam stared back, somewhere between fond and analyzing. 

"What was the point of that?"

"Human vulnerability. We've been together long enough. Give me a flaw Lilith-- I'll keep it safe." She doubted that. He stood to lean over the desk. "Unless you can't."

"I thought I told you to fucking stop with the spearmint toothpaste, Mutt. It's..." She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head away with a face. "Bad."

"Dr. Lilith White, the light of my life, the apple of my eye, a thorn in my tender side--  _ darling _ . Don't change the subject. It's childish. Oh!" He clapped his hands together, slinking back around the desk to be close again, grabbing her cheeks. "You're childish-- that's a good one."

She snarled, shoving off his hands. "I'm  _ not _ the childish on here Mutt, try again."

"Gladly."

"Wait, Adam for the love of God, don't--"

"The arrogance, the neuroticism, the self-destruction seeping into every crack, including those frown lines-- the fact that you're getting  _ frown lines _ at 25-- you crack your joints, hide when things don't go your way like a brat, and can't seem to decide if you give a shit about the people near and dear to you."

He took a step too close and she finally got to her feet, on the defensive. 

"The paranoia, the cynicism so powerful you bully even yourself with it, the tendency to--"

His head hit the desk with a satisfying thud, but she barely had a second to be pleased before he started laughing. 

"The gorgeous tendency to  _ lash out _ \-- come on baby I just want one, give me one and I'll stop, pretty please?" He straightened back up, busted lip dribbling down his chin. She could do better than that. "You hide in your hand when you laugh because you just can't  _ stand _ someone knowing they impact you, your values reflect daddy issues but your social circles reflect messy mommy ones, you're sloppy, you're fucking mean and petty of the worst kind--" He staggered back, hand gripping his throat. "You throw a pretty lukewarm punch--"

Eleven twenty-eight. Cameras on her floor would be down until three A.M for maintenance. She carefully slipped out of her coat ( dry cleaning on the thing was a hassle), cracked her neck, and tried again. To her embarrassment, he caught this one and immediately uses the hold on her to reel her in close. She really did hate the fucking spearmint.

"Just one? Just one for me Comet, I'll stop, I'll be good let's just have a big kid conversation-- please Lilith I tried helping, you just have to pick one flaw--"

"I let you slide your dick in and out of me regularly."

" _ That's _ where you're head is at? Dirty bird." Like he fucking cared, there was already a hand pushing up her skirt. "I love you."

She bites when he leans in for a kiss, and he spits blood in her face. Should have expected that... He slams her back on the desk, and she rips at his hair until he agrees to move her to the wall. She hated handing in crumpled papers like a fourth-grader. 

"You either half-ass or give up on everything you do like a textbook fear of failure, you're insecure to the point of neuroticism, you're an in the closet sexist and it comes out as hypersexuality--"

"Comet, sweetheart you know I didn't mean me, I'm not the fake."

"You're  _ so _ fucking fake! Your daughter is 16, she lives in New York because she jumped ship as soon as she got her license and you send a check every month she doesn't cash-- a fake, a failure, a fucking liar--"

He bites down hard, too hard on her collarbone, and she has to stop. Coward. He doesn't let go though, and every time she tries pushing him off it gets worse. He pulls away when he hears tears in her voice, and she's quick to punch him in the gut. With his appendix surgery still fresh (fresh enough), it's a surefire way to get him crying too. 

Lilith makes the mistake of not moving while her mutt's doubled over, and he takes them both to the ground when he recovers. 

Her legs around his waist, it's time to tune out. He nips at her a few more times but getting down to business seems more important than antagonism, for once. She's tired anyway. Once this gets handled she'd still be here for a few hours, Straught was picky about how he liked his reports. 

The format  _ was _ weird, he'd just been insufferable when she last tried updating it to the new system, it was easier to just give him what he wanted. How his assistant managed was a true mystery to Lilith, honestly. Everything she sent in was formatted correctly, but surely not everyone followed through. Did they all get yelled at, or did the poor thing retype up everything that she gave him? Lilith would need to investigate. A lot of the material sent to Straughts was confidential. 

Hold it.

She shouldn't be sitting up this soon-- why the hell is Adam mopping her up?

She tunes back in with a "What?"

Adam, embarrassed and looking nervous, scowls at her. "What do you mean, what? Come on." He helped her to her feet, and Lilith blinks, confused. 

"Why'd you stop?"

Adam stops buttoning his shirt to look at her, incredulous. She blinks at him, unsure exactly what happened. Did she do something? Something on his face changes, going fond, and suddenly she has his tongue in her mouth again. Gross.

"Adam?"

"Straughts walked in." She shoves him away immediately. Holy shit-- holy shit her blouse was ripped open her skirt was still hiked up her stockings were torn--

"He fucking  _ what?!" _

"Oh, shush shush shush, it's okay--"

"It's--  _ not _ \-- okay--Mutt!" She cut each word with a hit on his chest, breathing hard and fast. 

"It's okay-- Comet, sweetheart look at me, it's  _ fine _ . We're going to put on our saddest faces, apologize, then disclose our relationship to HR in the morning. It's gonna be okay, he adores you."

"He doesn't--"

"Positive thinking."

"But--"

He kissed her again, and when he pulls back all she can see is her lipstick all over his face. Her lipstick that only comes off under enormous pressure and special makeup remover. She decides not to tell him as he slides her skirt back into place. 

Samuel Straughts. He didn't  _ adore _ her, but he did like her. After the first incident when she was 20, she'd formatted all her reports correctly for him. She handing things in on time, kept her department neat and orderly, and thought red wine was a sluts drink, which made him laugh. This wouldn't be horrible. 

An hour and a half later, she was rethinking things. Samuel Straughts was almost impressive in just how longwinded he could get. She quit trying to defend herself after minute five, and Adam followed suit around fifteen. 

They'd both be receiving a disciplinary citation, but at this point in her career, those didn't phase her much. Her mutt was acting suspiciously remorseful, but she had no idea why. He'd had his fair share of complaints as well.

"--You both are grown, consenting adults and I understand that but workplace decency isn't something to be taken so lightly. Should you want to... Go home for God's sake. I expect more out of you, Miss White." What was  _ that _ tone? Adam flicked his eyes over to her just in time to see her eye twitch.

"What?"

Straught blinked, clearly not having expected a response from her after so long of silence. "I expect more out of you, Lilith. You're Starlights little girl, while in the building you're expected to act like it. I understand with the startup of your thesis things have been... stressful. But there are easier ways of relieving tension that keeps you out of trouble. Dr. Young is..." He looked at Adam. Adam, eyes still locked on Lilith, gently scooted his chair away from the both of them. "Dr. Young is a fine man, but--"

"Fire me." 

"Excuse me?"

"I said, fire me."

"Lilith--"

" _ Dr. White."  _

"Ah, my apologies, why would--" Confused, startled, reproachful. Lilith knew for a god damned fact he didn't care about workplace decency, and she didn't enjoy being spoken to like that. Time for a lesson. 

"He's not going to. Adam, up."

"Please dear God woman leave me out of this."

Dr. Lilith White stands up and pulls out her hair. "Is the disciplinary report all, sir?"

"I-- Your thesis is still fresh on the team, it could--"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"Funds can't be rearranged until next quarter and Rapture has all it needs. By then it won't be so fresh and take board evaluation to remove it. Fire me." It was a weak bluff to start and he was still using that  _ voice.  _ Straught was a well-built man, intimidating from agency and stature both; but he didn't compare. 

Adam scooted farther back. 

"Miss White--"

" _ Dr!"  _ she all but yelled.

_ "Dr. White _ , I don't know what you think you're doing but--"

Lilith, with one precise swipe of the arm, cleared the executive's desk. He sputtered for a moment, angry, before gaping. Lilith White had just dropped her shirt.

"Adam, _ love. _ Can you pretty please get off your ass and help me prove a point?" Three seconds of shocked silence, before she snapped out a " _ Now." _ He was on her immediately, wiping her own lipstick over her neck and slipping a hand in her skirt. Straught didn't know what do do with himself, but Lilith was nice enough to help. " _ Out. _ We'll talk later."

One. Two. Three-- the door slammed behind him as Samuel Straughts all but ran out of his office. 

"Comet that was the sexiest thing I've ever seen but I don't think I'm quite as immune as you are baby--"

"Do you want your dick wet or not, Mutt."

"Point taken, yes ma'am." he picked her up, almost delicately setting her on the desk to face him. "I love you."

"I think I might have a problem with authority." 

He smiled at her, lovestruck and adoring as he cooed at her, and she kissed him. Fucking spearmint ruined the moment for her,  _ again _ , but he was happy at least. Despite popular theory, Dr. Lilith White was willing to live with almost perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bro, I hate this man and the kind of love he gives/inspires. Bro I am at my limit.


	5. Missed Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't stop myself. I can't.

Piece of shit! 

The last shuttle set off just as Estelle reached the stop, legs burning and lungs heaving. A bitch just can't catch a _break_ today. She yelled for attention, flailing her arms, but the bus was already halfway down the road, then rounding the corner. She distinctly recalled late-night busses being a little more... _late-night_ last year, much to her frustration. Hard to keep kids safe when they turned in at-- a quick check of the time-- not even 9:30. 

It was plenty dark though with the winter months, and with the reason she left the library still lurking in her prereferral, she couldn't relax. 

Estelle inched back to the bus stop, nervous to stray too far from the lamplight. Library's closed. The last bus was gone, and the dorms weren't getting any closer, fucking things. Smaller universities were patronizing, uncomfortable, and desperate; but her mother's point was ringing unhelpfully true. They were safer. 

Four miles. 

The 100-meter jog she'd done from the library had drained her; no hell in way she'd be able to make that in a run. Jenna didn't own a car, and the stupid goody two shoes had a bedtime of 8 anyway. Those... mhm. Those were her options. She ran over both of them again and groaned. She was definitely getting murdered tonight. 

The little bench was freezing, but she barely perched on it to keep the figure in her sight. He moved once or twice, never away or closer, almost circling like he had in the library. Extra murdered. _Super_ murdered, even. Fuck. Should she call someone? All her friends were still back in Boston, they couldn't help, but she couldn't think of anything else. 

Wait! Jenna had given her a number to call! For almost this exact situation even, _idiot_. Her chances of survival rose up to extra murdered instead of super, and she almost dropped her phone in the excitement of hope. Fuck, okay, Jenna swore by them, it was going to be okay. If they even answered that was-- 9:30 was still late for some--

"Hello?"

They'd picked up on the first ring. _She_ had, sounding wide awake (if annoyed) and active. Jenna hadn't given her a name, fuck. Um. The figure moved again, and Estelle couldn't wait for the perfect thing to say.

"Hi! I'm, I'm sorry you don't know me, my name's Estelle, I'm a student? Here? A-at Harvard I mean, the bus left me and it's dark and Jenna said you walked her home a lot and there's this guy-- he was bothering me earlier and he's still behind me and he hasn't done anything! I'm fine and probably freaking out over nothing but-- but the dorms are a long walk away and--"

"Where are you?"

Stern and calm, like talking to a child. Or a soon-to-be murder victim. Estelle wondered what she sounded like in comparison. 

"I'm outside the main library? Northside, t--" She had to stop and take an anxious breath. Crying. She probably sounded like she was crying. "The north side?"

"Stay under a light, I'm close. Dorms on the west end, right?"

Estelle was, in fact, crying. 

"Right?" The phone pressed, soft sounds of movement caught by the receiver. 

"Right," Estelle said, "I live on the west end."

"I can stay on the phone if you need."

"Please?"

The girl stayed, though she didn't talk much. Occasionally she'd bark an order for Estelle to say something, which was immediately followed, high and nervous. Maybe-not murdered now. That was good. 

Something knocked on the glass of the bus stop a few minutes later, and Estelle fell off the bench with a yelp. 

"Sorry." A hand was offered out and after three big gulps of air, Estelle was able to take it. Her escort had arrived, long-legged and leather-clad. Didn't really expect the girl to look like... hold the fuck on. 

"Punk rock?"

A blonde eyebrow raised, but otherwise, her face was steely set. "Excuse me? You're Estelle?"

"I know you."

A few things crossed over the face of her escort, but a noise across the quad drew both of their attention. She stood a little straighter, eyes scanning, a hand protective on the small of Estelles back. 

"Congratulations. I have things to do tonight, come on."

And they were off. Punk rock kept checking behind the two of them, and once they reached the performing arts center slung an arm over her shoulder. This... wasn't ideal. Far from it. But unnamed creeper didn't slink any closer, and Punk rock kept her head high as they walked, a calm sort of swagger in her walk, and that was... refreshing. Estelle just focused on breathing for a while and let herself be lead.

...That turn didn't make any sense. She _knew_ Punk rock knew where the dorms were, why were they turning to the main yard?

"Hey. We should have gone left back there."

"You're that eager to show him where you live?"

Oh. Right. That makes sense. Estelle frowned anyway, calm enough to argue. She loved arguing. 

"So we just take a longer route? This adds like, five minutes on." She said, a little frustrated. "I still have to go home at some point."

"Just testing interest. If we still have a tail by... the business school I'll deal with him."

Deal with him?

"With the crossbow?" Estelle nodded to the said weapon, hanging proudly on Punk rocks back. "That seems... excessive. I'm flattered, but--"

"What? No, I'm not here to murder someone for you."

"Then why do you have it?"

"I was out before you called."

"Doing _what?_ " 

Punk rock looked so profoundly uncomfortable Estelle almost laughed. After a choked few seconds, she muttered out, "Squirrels..." and Estelle _did_ bust out in a fit of giggles. Punk rock became very invested in checking something on her phone, but Estelle wasn't quite done with her knight yet. 

"Squirrels? With _that?"_

"Yes."

"My dad's a game warden you know."

"Lucky bird."

"And we hunted together all the time. _Competitively."_

"...R-really big squirrels." 

"You're a fucking enigma, Punk rock!"

"Yeah, and _you_ called _me._ "

"And I'm really grateful you came, honest, I just can't wrap my head around you."

"You don't have to after I drop you off."

There was her cue to pause, trying to catch the blonde's eye. Confused, she did glance back over to Estelle eventually, and the girl was waiting expectantly. Didn't seem to help. 

"You don't recognize me?"

"I know... of you. You're Jenna's friend right? Art student?" 

The big blabbermouth. But that didn't make it any better. 

"Well, yeah but..." She raised her eyebrows. Punk rock raised hers to match, still confused.

"But...?"

Estelle huffed, dragging a hand down her face. 

"You have this bigass cat that lounges all over the dorm, you're a robotics student, last Thursday you were totally manic and repainted the _white_ room a different shade of white, you can eat an entire can of cheese-wiz in one gulp, you can't open the jars of the hummus you always buy so you leave it out on the common room table with a sticky note asking for help so someone else will pop it for you--"

Punk rock was looking at Estelle as though _she_ was the creeper here, but Estelle had an ace in the hole. 

"-- A few times a month you wake up in a full-blown panic attack and you've gotten _us_ like 15 noise complaints because of the screaming Punk rock--"

"Stop it!" 

She wasn't expecting to get yelled at and immediately recoiled. The blonde clearly hadn't expected _to_ yell, and quickly got Estelle back under her arm with a quick glance thrown over her shoulder. " _Stop that_ ," she tried again, this time in a low hiss. "It's fucking creepy. And stop calling me that."

"You're a _dipshit_ ," Estelle snapped back "I've been sleeping across from you for like, _more_ than six months now!"

"What?"

"Come on, seriously?"

"I-- Well-- I, You don't know my name! Six months, that's a pretty shitty roommate."

"I'm not the one who leaves their stupid shit everywhere! I woke up once with a gash on my back because there was a Dremel in my bed! A bit on and everything! What the fuck were you doing on _my_ bed with power tools woman!" 

"I stay on my half when you're there--"

"You do it _often?"_

"I-- No, I don't! It smells like a bath and body works over there it's gross--"

"What's wrong with bath and body works? You always smell like motor oil and like-- _brimstone_ , I had to look that up y'know-- I thought we had a gas leak for _months--"_

They kept at it for a while, venting frustrations about a faceless, shitty roommate until Punk rock went stony-- holding up a hand. 

"Don't shush me I'm serious, it's fine you go ' _squirrel hunting_ ' at night but close the window; it's _freezing_ \--"

" _Estelle."_

Oh. That certainly was quite the tone and made Estelle blink, looking around. They'd hit the business school. They were almost home. She'd almost forgot about unnamed creeper while they bickered, but Punk rock clearly hadn't. 

"I don't see him any--"

"I do." Something serious and grim was set on the face of her escort, and Estelle was hit with a spike of worry. 

"You don't-- _have_ to do anything you know, we're almost there, and he probably won't go into the dorms anyway, you don't need to--"

"Stop it. Stay here, this won't take long." She glanced down to Estelle, and smiled weakly. "I told you I'm not gonna kill him, quit with the face."

"Somehow that's not as reassuring as you think it is."

The smile dropped immediately, replaced with an annoyed snarl. The crossbow was slung off her back, then tossed into Estelle's arms. All forty-fucking-pounds of it. _Squirrels._ Mhm. Punk rock turned to walk away, and Estelle politely cleared her throat. She'd been pressed up on her side, she _couldn't_ have missed the massive knife on her escorts hip if she'd tried. 

Another frustrated huff and the offending weapon was tugged out of its scabbard and flung into the ground, barely any blade visible as in sunk into the grass. 

"I _told_ you, I have other shit to handle tonight..."

And she was off. 

Estelle stayed very still, straining to hear any commotion from Unnamed creeper and her knight, but heard nothing. Horrifying! She was a tough girl, regularly slinking into their dorm beat to shit and bleeding, but maybe she shouldn't have asked for her to leave the weapons. Maybe they were for emergencies. Maybe an emergency was happening right now. Should she help? Should she run? She could make it home in a sprint, probably, and wake up the RA. Fuck, she should have insisted they just went home, they'd have been okay, Punk rock was--

Fine. 

She stepped back through the bushes, picking up her knife and wiping at her mouth. 

"My crossbow?"

Estelle held it out to her, eyes wide. 

"You're bleeding." She said dumbly. Punk rock was, busted lip dribbling down her chin. She didn't seem particularly concerned though, just shrugged as she took back her bow. 

"Come on, Estelle." 

The arm found it's way around her again. Estelle didn't say anything about it, and let herself be lead home. 

They were at the apartment door before she knew it, and she blinked slowly. Punk rock looked expectantly at the door, then to Estelle. 

"I don't have my key, thought I'd be coming back through the window."

Estelle blinked at her. 

"How often do you do this?"

"Excuse me?"

"Jenna says you're always there to walk her home when she needs."

"I am."

"She also says a lot of people call you, so one more wouldn't matter. She's the one who gave me your number."

Something pink and embarrassed found their way to Punk rocks cheeks, clear in the fluorescent lighting. "I've asked her not to do that... I'm busy enough at night. And-- I'm really am too busy for this tonight, come on." She nodded to the door. 

So she kept saying. She didn't know Estelle when she's called, and despite being "too busy" came running anyway for a stranger. Mhm. Crazy-ass or not, Estelle wanted her as a friend. 

First impressions had come and gone, however. A _long_ time ago. And if she wanted a redo, the bus stop had probably been it. Fuck. 

"Thank you," she said. Punk rock didn't respond, just looked pointedly at the door again. She stepped back, confused when Estelle offered out a hand. Might as well be cheesy. "I'd have never found this place on my own, the directions administration were awful."

"What are you--"

"You're here too huh? Lucky me, you look pretty punk rock. It's cool." She smiled at the blonde, genuine and trying. "I'm Estelle."

There was a long moment of silence. 

Punk rock took her hand. 

"I'm Lilith."

Holy shit. 

"That's a pretty punk rock name, roomie."

Lilith laughed a little, still flushed. "Lily works too if that's a little too hardcore for you." 

"That's pretty." She let go of her hand, digging for her keys. "I know you still have stuff to handle, first days a wreck, but maybe we could hang out later?"

"Y-yeah. That'd be fine."

Estelle unlocked and stepped in the room, smiling brightly at the blonde. 

"I'll see you then. Night Lily."

Lilith blinked, nodding, and Estelle closed the door. Her big mean cat was sprawled out of Estelle's pillow, like _always,_ so there was still a fight she had to survive tonight, but she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. Only took six fucking months to get it, she might as well enjoy her moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not pictured: Lazarus being the actual nightmare roommate. He does what he wants where he wants, and doesn't care who's in the way. What are they gonna do, report him? He's an emotional support animal.


	6. For the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I care him.

"Running through the mountains and searching through the pines, how ever ever ever ever ever ever will I find--"

She hums the rest of the tune, eyes closed and relaxed. 

When nothing answered her but the birds, she takes a deep breath and tries again. 

"Running through the mountains and searching through the pines, how ever ever ever ever ever ever will I find--"

Still nothing, but a mockingbird picked up the song and cheerily starting singing as well. The trees seemed dark and thick and empty, save her and the feathery entourage, but Esctacy knows better. He had just gained a little more self-control since the last time they were together; it usually only took one. Third time-- she'd break him on the third time for sure though. 

"Running through the mountains and searching through the pines, how ever ever ever ever ever ever will I find--"

A rustle behind her in the leaves was her only clue, and she turned just in time to see him pop out of the underbrush like an overgrown jack in the box. 

"My beautiful brave big sister!~" He finished for her, already leaping again, this time into her open arms. She spun the both of them as he squealed in delight, arms tightly wrapped around her neck. 

"My lovely lucky little brother!" Her voice wasn't meant for gentle things like melodies, her brothers even rougher in comparison but such a little thing hardly mattered to either of them. It'd been much too long. 

_"I've found you!"_ they chirped in unison, rubbing their noses together. 

"Nexris!"

"Escasty!"

" _Nexris!"_

"E-Escasty?" he asked, blinking owlishly at her. She'd yet to release him from her hold, and he still dangled in her grip.

"Wild little thing! I've missed you! You said you'd return to see me within the year!"

"And I intended to!"

"It's been well over two you dolt! How can you not keep track of simple seasons hm?" She wasn't angry, not really, but it'd do him some good to sweat a little. He nuzzled under her chin, mindful of his horns, and showed no signs of sweating. She tightened her grip ever so slightly. He squeaked like a mouse, smiling his radiant, goofy smile up at her. Shithead. "Act scolded, won't you? This is serious! All alone in the world, you really ought to be keeping a closer eye on the time."

"You know I'll always find my way back; I _always_ keep my promises don't I?" He asked, face still bright as the sun, but had at least the decency to droop his ears. 

"You're a menace, Nex. A proper menace."

" _Don't I?"_ he pressed, only smiling wider. 

She scowled, lifting him above her head. Of course, he kept his promises, but she couldn't just let him win the conversation-- a point was being made here. With a huff, and she slung him back into the trees. He was lighter than she remembered, and she'd certainly gotten stronger, for he went _sailing_ out her sight with a yelp. 

He landed in a roll, bonking his thick skull on an oak tree but happily racing back into her arms all the same. She could snap him across her knee and deposit the body in some river-- and he'd come running back all the same. It squeezed Escastys insides in a little to know someone like that existed at all. Beside him, she was always warm and adoring and so very, very anxious for his big dumb heart. 

"You're so strong!"

"You're so skinny Nexris, I don't think I even need to be. What have you been eating little brother?" 

"Meat!" He all but yelled, odd look coming over his face. 

"That's... That's good? Why wouldn't you, Nex?"

"Did you know I have weird diet needs?"

Escasty had a funny feeling she knew exactly where this was going, but nodded along. "Of course I do, I was the one who had kitchen duty most. And it was sort of obvious, being truthful."

Nexris groaned, long and loud, and laid his head dramatically on her shoulder. "Why did everybody know but me! That's not fair Escasty, it's _my_ body!" 

"Come on then little brother, let's hear it." He loved telling stories, and Escasty loved indulging him. So long as they stayed brief that was. 

"I met up with Denzin a few seasons ago--"

That explained it entirely. Escasty loved all of her siblings, really she did, but Denzin... Loving him took a little more effort. A careless, wild thing, he'd been a handful living with in the home, so Escasty mostly kept to herself in his presence. He and Nexris, however, were as thick as thieves (laughable considering both their chosen professions now) and loved nothing more than getting into trouble or some kind of hurt. Denzin, usually trouble, and Nexris usually hurt. The poor clumsy thing he was. 

Nexris recounted their chance meeting, his elation when Denzin invited him to tag along for a few months, and a certain lifestyle change he'd recently adopted. That, like the adoring little brother Nexris was, had taken on as well. 

"Nex, you can't go vegetarian with your metabolism like it is--"

"But I did! Lasted a whole four months too, that's impressive."

"I can't believe he let you do that! You're skin and bones little brother, was it bad enough you were getting the headaches? And he didn't--"

"Oh don't be like that! He didn't even know I was doing it with him until the spring, and he was..." Nexris shudders in her arms. "A little upset." As if. Denzin didn't do anything ' _little_ '. "But I'm gaining it back! This time it'll be muscle too, just you watch." He was offering her a change in conversation, getting restless, and while she was still a little upset with their brother she accepted it. She didn't want to have that argument, not with Nexris. 

"Lanky thing like you? I can't imagine it."

"You won't have to imagine it, you'll be seeing it soon."

" _Soon_?"

"Mhm, soon." 

She narrows her eyes at him, and he grins. Goof. 

"What are you doing here, Nexris?"

He stops grinning.

"Do you not want me here?"

"Of course I want you here little brother. But that's not what's in question. It's dangerous for little things like you here, you know that." His ears dip low and she hates the way she phrased that. Too similar to something too hateful. They're both something unloved, Escasty with orc in her veins and Nexris with something infernal. 

"I'm just... I just thought--" He flushes, looking ashamed. It doesn't fit his face, but he wears it clearly anyway. "It's been a while since Denzin and I split up, and I heard you were stationed here so... I don't know."

He's lonely. 

"I'm not supposed to have guests here Nexris." He droops even lower and it threatens to break her heart, so she's quick to continue. "But one night could work, with a sneaky thing like you." It's comical how quickly he lights up again, nodding his head so hard Escasty has to bend back or risk getting thwapped with his horns. "But you have to be quiet Nex! Really, really quiet, do you understand? If I bring you in there there will be _no_ talking, alright?"

"Of course Cici!" He's bound for trouble, whipping out such a sweet nickname on her-- a mix of her name and sissy-- but it sways her anyway.

They wait for dark to head in, Nexris chittering her ear off about the many misadventures he's has since they last met and Escasty listening attentively, if only so he'd get it out of his system. Then, when night has fallen, she scoops him up like the lost puppy he is and tucks him into her cloak. It's not her best work, but if memory serves Larkson is on watch duty tonight-- the shabby cover will be more than enough. Fuck that guy. 

She reminds him when they're a mile away that he has to be quiet. Eyes large, he zips his lips with a serious nod. 

She reminds him again at a half-mile, and he grumbles sheepishly before trailing off again. 

As they approach the fort gate, Escasty grabs his scruff and squeezes tight enough to bruise just to get him to _settle_. How he managed to steal a thing was beyond her-- a chatterbox to the end, and excessively squirmy when excited. 

By some miracle they make it through though, passing no one as they slog to the guards quarters. Escasty nods off any attempts at conversation from her fellow knights with ease, and lets go of an anxious breath when they finally reach her bunk. All guards sleep in the same, open floor, but she is lucky enough to have a bed pressed to the wall. She presses her little brother to the wall and lays in front of him, blocking him from the rest of the room's view. 

He's done excellent thus far, silent as the morning air and still as she maneuvers him to comfort. He does try whispering out some excited comments about the fort, but she's quick to shush them up. She told him the conditions for his stay, now he had to follow them. 

It takes longer than she's comfortable with for him to settle down proper, and he's fussy when she refuses to let him wrap his arms around her (for what if they were spotted?), but he does tire eventually. Head tucked to her chest, her arm over his thin waist, it feels like home. 

Another breath leaves her, this one ragged and sad, and he presses closer instinctively. She's as homesick as he is lonely. She'd bottle this feeling if she could, for lack of a way to bottle her baby brother. Restless, flighty thing. 

They _both_ get lonely easily, growing up as they had. Tonight they had one another, and it'd be in the morning it'd be the same (she just had to make sure he ate a good breakfast), but thinking it'd last any longer than that was foolish. Escasty would horseplay during training, playing rowdily and lovingly to shake off the itch for touch. 

Nexris would... She didn't know what he'd do. Find someone to break his heart, probably. The unpleasant thought made her grip on him tighten, and he chirped in sleepy complaint. Traveling partners were never meant to last long, but how he hated traveling alone. 

At least he knew where she was now and would be for a long time yet. Partners and lovers and friends had the horrible habit of leaving him behind. 

"Running through the mountains and searching through the pines, how ever ever ever ever ever ever will I find--"

She should be scolding him, even at the low murmur he's at he's putting them at risk. But she doesn't. Instead, she hums the next part. He eats it up, mouth pressing into her collarbone. 

"So many sweet and so many kind, but there's only one thing stuck on my mind--"

She pets through his tangle of hair, softly singing along. It's worth it. 

"Sparkle eyed darling, that means you, the very special family I find in you." 

The last words she sang alone, little brother asleep in her arms. Family doesn't leave family behind. Even if they snore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when friends become family?


	7. #8F9779

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of a two parter, ch 8 will be the Actual important shit. this is just... flavor

Head down, eyes closed.

Stay calm.

You'll be okay, he probably sent the text like that to scare you. It worked, you're terrified. Seeing through the veil only works on brave creatures, something at the tender age of 14 you've accepted you'll never be. At least when it comes to him. 

**I'll be home late. Front entranceway, don't you dare move little bird. We'll chat when I arrive.**

You stare at the upholstery of the chaise lounge under you. The ugly color has failed to comfort you for the past five hours, but you try again anyway. Your math teacher's favorite color is green-- claims it's calming. Thinking of math makes you feel like your going to vomit, but it wouldn't matter if you did anyway since you're not allowed to leave this spot. Probably couldn't even tell, the nasty fucking fabric would make it blend right in. Gross. 

The watery, forgettable, equally nasty carpet flows beneath you. You can't remember what color it was, just that you hated the pattern. Shifting, swirling, blooming. It does little to quell your nausea. 

You glance out the window. Mid-afternoon, the bus drops you off at 3:45. You feel stiff from sitting as straight as you are. 

Another glance and the world is dark. He told you he'd be late, it'd be petulant to text and ask for an ETA. Even if your back _hurts_ , still too scared to relax. 

You dare a peek at your watch. Past 11, Mr. Dower must be grinding him hard. 

Maybe he'll leave you here forever. 

It's a dumb, little kid kind of thought, but your heart speeds up anyway. You're exhausted from the week, your back aches and head hurts and chest feels-- feels--

You can't breathe. 

It feels like you're drowning because maybe you'll never hear the key in the lock and his footsteps on the hardwood-- worse yet you _will_ and he'll decide he hates you right in front of the ugly green chaise lounge because you're an awful child who can't keep her mouth shut and picked a fight with nice Mrs. Ebbens who only ever tried helping his standoffish, mean daughter and smiles at her during study hall even when she doesn't deserve it--

Your father picks up your chin, takes a long look at the mess you are, and smiles. 

He tries mopping you up with little success. You're caked in tears and snot and spit from wailing you doing remember starting, hair ripped out of your ponytail and all at once you're mortified. He hates messes. 

He tuts when you try pulling back from him, but does help you back onto the chair (when did you fall?). 

Chin still trapped in his hold, he makes you meet his eyes. Green meets green, and he has such a soft look in his you almost start crying again. More tears do fall, and it makes the soft look travel on his face, smile stretching wider. 

_"My baby bird"_ he cooed, voice distorted. You'd tried forgetting this one. 

You tried apologizing, desperate and terrified, but he shushed you before more than a whimper could come out, kneeling in front of you. 

_"Do you know what I love about you darling?"_ he asked, gentle and kind. You shook like a leaf in his hold, saying nothing. _"Despite just how cruel you can be Lilith, you always make this part so easy for me."_

He kisses your forehead, and laughs delightedly when you flinch back from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops


	8. Were and Will Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. It’s done at last.

Lilith White sat perfectly still, the only person awake in the base. Arrow had been hard to wiggle away from, but she'd been putting this off for too long. Deep breaths. She wasn't 14 anymore. 

Less than a foot away, sitting perfectly still, sat Lilith Gould. She was the only person awake in the base. TLC shows had proven to be a calming point, and after... _that, s_ he'd wandered out to the living room. She hadn't expected it to show up as well. The unwelcome warning moved like it was unsure when it first sat down with her, but hadn't taken the hint. It never did, unfortunately. But she was tired and it's left hook only got better with time, so she kept quiet. 

Lilith White was sweating by the time the first episode ended. It didn't look over to her, not once, or throw a saving line. She hadn't expected it to, not really, but in hoping she'd forgotten a key part of who it was. It would never make life easier for her. Don't think, be brave. 

"Why that one?" she asked. She could feel it tense, eyes still locked on the screen. No answer. Try again. "Normally it's--"

"Don't." She snapped. It loved prodding her about the nightmares, big or small. There was never any denying it either, like a nasty fucking parasite it normally tagged along when she had them. 

It flinches, like it has any right to flinch away from her. It leaves a nasty taste in both of their mouths. 

Another episode passes. 

The warning tries again during the first commercial break. 

"Pink?" 

It glances over to her, trying to figure out the question. Lilith lets it take its time. When it speaks it does so as if it'd hadn't taken five minutes to respond. 

"Hm? Oh, pink. I like it. There's nothing wrong with--"

_'Sweetheart, you're a young lady, not a little girl. Need to start showing that.'_

Both of them flinch this time, eyes darting away. It'd been a while since that had last happened. It's the guilt that recovers first, continuing firmly. 

"There's nothing wrong with it." 

Lilith nods. She had liked the color when she was younger. It looks back to the tv, makes a small sound, and flicks the channel. Baking now. Lilith can't complain. 

"You fucking suck at small talk." it says. 

"I know."

"Do you want to say something or don't you?" it asks.

"I do." 

A long silence stretches between them. The guilt isn't brave enough to keep prodding and the warning is too scared to continue. Another episode rolls by. 

"You're out of college." the warning says. Lilith says nothing. It keeps on anyway. "And... Raiden and I were talking." The traitor. 

It trails off after that, much to her annoyance. She'd seen it try this with others before, just give snippets in hopes they'd pick them up to make actual conversation. It was childish. _Lilith_ wasn't that childish, and she was more than a decade younger. She didn't know why she was humoring it. 

The guilt turned to her, eyes narrow. Not a glance, not a quick flick of the eyes, but turned proper. It startled her. 

"Spit it out for god's sake, _please_. You can run off once it's out but it has to come out first." That startled her _more._ It grabbed her hand when it spoke, sending pins and needles all up her arm. If it bothered it, it gave no sign, squeezing her hand. "Come on."

"I-- You-- F-for the company I mean you can't--" 

How the warning ever survived this long was a damn fucking miracle. A long series of miracles perhaps. She squeezed it's hand again, ignoring the spike of pins and needles up her arm. The longer she held the worse it got, but she was proving a point. 

"It's okay."

"You-- You need a team. Startups of the size you want don't just happen with one person and a grant."

"I know that."

"Then why don't you have anyone? Raiden said it was approved months ago."

_'When you're unpleasant to work with, no one wants to work with you, it's that simple little--'_

Both shook their heads in time, _one two one,_ dispelling the thought before it could carry on too long. He was longwinded at the best of times. 

"I've gotten plenty of applications-- it's not that. I'm just. It's... I don't know."

It didn't want to subject anyone to itself. How kind. 

...

That was cruel. And antithesis to what Lilith was doing here. Deep breath. She wished it would let go of her hand. 

"If you're open to recommendation... I think I could help." It looked to her, blank. Keep breathing. "I just so happen to know several professionals in the field who are not only qualified, looking for a change in pace, and interested, they... I also know for a fact they'd be compatible with you." She didn't want to explain, she _desperately_ didn't want to explain. Knowing her luck it'd demand it and she'd make an idiot ff herself trying to and--

"Really?" it asked, sounding positively infantile, soft and tentative. 

Oh. Well, that was... unexpected. 

"Really," she said. "No catch either. They're wonderful. You just--" 

Lilith White broke Dr. Ana Leopold's wrist. She can't even remember what set her off-- just the scent of the woman's shampoo as she hissed into her ear, the way she had to stand up on tiptoe to avoid strain in Liliths hold. The snapping under her hand when she finally twisted the arm too far behind the young lady's back. 

It was hardly a standalone incident. Fractured fingers, bruised wrists, and battered ribs were a thirteenth-floor staple. Five members of the team and hundreds of trips to the in house medical ward between them, it was a wonder they stayed. A White for two years when they were first assigned under her, she had things to prove. 

But they had stayed. They deposited ramen on her desk when she wasn't looking to be sure she was eating, learned her flaming hoops as quickly and efficiently as possible to best jump through them, never complained. The invitations to happy hour every week never once wavered, the concern for when she'd stumble in beat to shit or crying was always genuine, the tears of frustration at _their_ projects rejection real. 

It had been _their_ project at the end. Lilith did massive amounts of the heavy lifting for it, but never once did she doubt their competency or loyalty. And she'd been 20 years old and exceptionally cruel and she hadn't learned a _thing,_ as here she was trying to gift them to herself at 20 for the whole thing to repeat. Fucking _moron._

"You'd just have to be good to them." She finished, feeling hysterical. Probably sounding like it too. " _Please._ " 

Lilith Gould didn't understand what was in front of her. Like looking at a relative in an old, fuzzy photograph-- it felt familiar but strange, diffrent, new. The pins and needles had crawled their way to her chest now, but she couldn't let go if she wanted to. It _hurt_ but-- 

But she'd never seen her cry. 

She tried to duck away several times, to hide in her hands, to get up, but the Lilith wasn't letting go, just watching. Whatever had caused her to pause had a good grip on her as well, and a few tears became a flood and sniffling became sobs. She didn't move to comfort her, just kept a hold of her hand. That felt like all that should be required from a first meeting. 

Another episode rolled by. The woman took her time settling down, and only when the tears stop did Lilith speak. 

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Lilith looked over, startled to find a person attached to the hand she was holding. Why _wouldn't_ she be good to them? She was no White, that was Lilith's sole burden now. Covered in pins and needles now, head to toe, she tilted her head, considering. 

Her 20 years old looked radically different. Thinner, meaner, with darker eyes and less... glow. There was never a scar on her lip. She never held her eyes like that, having learned at 19 to stay in a narrow-eyed scowl. Her guilt was a decade younger, an uncanny, uncomfortable mirror. This was... not it. The young lady holding her hand was looking her over much the same way. Taking one another in. 

"I don't know." She said. 

"Then I'd like to see them." The girl responded. They needed to stop touching, soon. It hurt to breathe. Lilith moved closer. So did Lilith. 

"Right. Of course, I'll get the applications to you then, Lilith." 

" 'm called Lily." 

She could never handle that as a nickname. But this one had never had... _that_ happen to her, and Lilith was glad. 

"Pretty. I'll get the applications to you then, Lily."

In a move she was only used to from Arrow, Lily laid her head on her shoulder. Lilith didn't ask her to move. Not another word was passed for two more episodes, and they silently went their separate ways when the time was over. Each had too much to think about to bother commenting on the whole affair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Besides the obvious I felt this important enough to write out due to Project Rapture officially being laid to rest. This conversation serves as the hope Lilith will gather her team and successfully launch its final resting ground. She’s letting her team go, she’s letting the project go.


	9. Melodrama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HO boy i’m restless.

"Hey. Babydoll. Hey."

Francine pointedly did _not_ look over, still wiping at her eyes. She hated when her dad used his officer voice on her, something he couldn't seem to help in the station. Not even an hour and a half she'd been late, and he'd chewed her out on the bench like one of his roughhouse boys. 

"Babydoll, I'm freezing to death over here, c'mon." 

And, despite it being a Monday, there was a roughhouse trying to talk to her. Tuesday now, being so late in the morning. 

"Was Officer Page too rough? Told him, again and again, he's too mean with dames but does he listen-- not to me. Don't sweat too bad on it though, it's just cause he cares too much." 

She made a show of crossing her arms, tilting her chin up. He laughed, delighted, and moved closer. He was harmless, would've been shoved in the holding cell if he wasn't, so it was hardly a concern. 

"Okay, okay for serious now. Why you here doll? If it's something at the Bleeding rose I'd like to know not to go back, yeah?"

Francine glanced around the station. At this hour only the skeleton crew was running the show, just her dad and Officer Weston, and both seemed preoccupied for now. 

"Why would they only go for the singer in a bust?" She asked lowly. "Don't see anyone else here do you?" 

The young man lit up when she responded, smiling brightly at her, and it clicked. 

"I know you."

"I'm flattered."

"You spilled bourbon down my dress last Friday."

His smile stretches wider with nerves, but he keeps on earnestly. "I'm less flattered _that's_ what you remember, thought we had a nice talk afterward--"

"You were so zozzled you fell off your stool twice and kept sayin' you wanted to taste my gloss." 

The young man looked suitably embarrassed, going red in the cheeks. It looked good on him, and she grinned right back as he muttered out a quiet "Killin me here, Red..."

"Call me Franny."

"Is that your name?"

"Why wouldn't it be...?"

He shrugged, giving her an odd look. "Been meeting a lot of odd birds lately, can't be sure."

"You need me to whip out my papers or something, thug? Come on, just my name." 

"Alright, alright I'll pump the breaks." An arm snaked its way over her shoulders, and she let it. "I'm--"

"Charlie, I know." He raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged. "We did talk for a while last week. Charlie, Charles, Chaz, Cal, you gave me quite a lot to work with, hypocrite."

"Just Charlie then. Sounded best with your twang."

"My twang?" she asked. 

"Mhm, 's cute. Like it better than Officer Pages, little too much for me." He tugged her closer, and she smiled up at him. Bold flirt, and getting bolder. "Singing or talking, I could listen to you all day. 'S just right." 

"Ought to be careful talking to me like that, Charlie." 

"And whys that? You don't look like you mind it much, Songbird." 

Couldn't be more than 25, too young a face, even with the nasty spread of bruises across it. Her ankle rubbed against his, and she felt him shudder. No more than 20 then. 

"I don't mind at all, I'm thinking for your sake." The hand over her shoulder reached up, twirling a bit of her hair on his finger. He didn't say anything, just tilted his head with a smile. A hand snuck into his jacket, and the smile grew. "Hate for you to lose your head for me, givin' I can't frill like that for you." 

She kept smiling, and he matched her, assuming she was playing like an upstage. 

"Got a problem?"

"Itsy-bitsy one."

"Well c'mon then, let me hear it. Can't let a pretty bird like you slip by 'cause of something 'itty-bitty."

He had a head and a half on her, towering thing and solid as they come, but she had surprise. He was on his rump in a hot second, and she stood over him, hands on her hips.

"I _don't_ mess with no _roughhouse_!"

"I- wh-- _You_ threw _me_! Didn't start nothin--" he was sputtering, flustered and surprised up at her. She wasn't having it. 

"Sure didn't give you that shiner though, did I?"

"I didn't start that one either!"

"Well then why didn't I see another bumped up bimbo get dragged in here with you." 

"I just--"

"Francine!" 

Both of them scrambled back onto the bench, looking separate ways. Charlie, thinking he was being cute, started whistling. 

Officer Page stood over the both of them, hands on his hips.

"Evening sir, how can I help you?"

"Keeping your hands to yourself would be a good start son." He said, voice hard. Apparently in a familiar routine, Charlie grinned up at him.

"I'll have you know this little doll was the one bein' rough on me if you can believe it. Get her for fighting too?" He was picked up off the bench by the arm. "No no don't tell me I can get it. Arson? Drugs? No not drugs with a face like that. Transporting drugs!" Francine waved goodbye as her father drug him off, giggling into her hand. He seemed to eat it up, blowing kisses back to her. "Page, think you're in the wrong business."

"You can stop at anytime Workman."

"Should have been a preacher."

"Workman--"

"Cause she needs a church. Have you heard her sing? _Straight_ sin, 'm telling you."

Francine stopped smiling. Officer Page quit tugging him off, looking down at him with eyes narrowed. 

"Where exactly have you heard my daughter sing?"

Charlie stopped smiling, several things clicking. Thought her twang sounded familiar. 

"Uh."

Both Pages giving him matching, vicious looks, it took almost a full minute for the young man to recover. 

"Well. I mean-- um." 

"Daddy, quit it, I told you about Charlie." She was chewed out for a solid 30 minutes for a break in curfew, might as well crawl in the grave now if he were to find out about the Bleeding rose. Officer Page blinked, looking back at her. "He took me out couple Saturdays ago, you forgot? Mean thing, I was so excited too!"

"I thought that was Dean?"

She shook her head firmly, standing up to plant a foot. "Dean's my English partner, and you'd recognize him if you bothered to walk me to the car." 

He looked down at Charlie. Charlie looked up at him, grinning nervously. Just as his mouth opened though, Francine caught him. 

"Ah-ah! No interrogating, scared too many off as is."

" _They_ weren't on the bench every other week Franny, don't think I want you around a jack like--"

"What'd mom say?" 

"Sweetpea--"

" _No_ botherin' me about boys! That's her job." He tried to start again, but her eyes stopped him in his tracks. " ...Can we talk about this later? It's late." 

A long pause passed over the three of them. Finally, Charlie, "Princess I gotta warn you, if you ever gimmie that voice I'll be a pile on the floor, be gentle with me."

Officer Page came back to himself then, looking unimpressed down at the young man. "You can still spend the night in the cell you know."

"Sorry sir, I'm bein' good." 

"Go, you know the way by now. Franny, grabbin' my coat then we'll get on."

Charlie's arm was dropped, and the young man immediately backed away, making to go for the door. Officer Page headed oppisite, towards the office area. Soon as he'd cleared the doorway, Charlie turned on his heel. 

"Dunno who this Dean guy is, songbird, but a couple of weeks is a long time to wait for a second date. He call even?"

Her eyes flicked to the doorway, arms still crossed and antsy. He smiled at her. She smiled back. 

"Candlesticks awful quiet. Sorta liked him too, shame..."

"It's a d _amn_ shame, Red. Only a fucking idiot gets one date from a girl like you." She tilted her head at him. He stepped closer. "Don't want to brag or anything, but I'm not a fucking idiot."

"You haven't even gotten one yet."

"Yet? I'm getting one then, for sure?"

"I-- That's not--" She flushed, taking a step back. He didn't mind much, and ate the space between them in a few more quick steps. "I told you I don't mess with roughhouses jack, don't think you'll be getting lucky."

"Think I'm already pretty lucky, getting sat next to you tonight." She flushed again, back on the wall. "But hey, I get it. Principles and all, respect that... but."

"But?"

"But I'd love to hear you again. If that's okay...?"

He looked downright delectable all flushed and skittish, like she wasn't the one pinned on the wall. What could she do. 

"Got a gig on Thursday, same place. Like it if you were a little more sober this time around."

"Course, course."

"Charlie?"

"Mhm?"

"Get the hell out of here before I give you a matching black eye, huh? Can't cover for us _again_ tonight." 

A grin stretched across his face, honest and delighted, and she found herself matching it. They'd make a hell of a pair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided NOT to think about the impending doom. Charlie is a charming young man who treats her well and they live a nice long life together.


	10. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How scary it must seem  
> to see your own reflection  
> with fangs  
> you might reach up, feeling at your teeth  
> ‘yes, there are canines there’  
> you’ll say, soothed.  
> but you’ll always wonder if they’re truly the same

Eleven years in college, four years in a hellish internship and six months picking up toxic waste on the fourth floor. It'd been a long road with a lot of weird, humiliating turns and a little bit of an unknown drug several years ago, but here he stood. A pioneer in his field, decorated and respected, on the verge of--

_Thunk._

Strangling his coworker. 

Huffing, he pushed his chair back into hers, a more forceful mirror of what she'd accidentally done to him. _Thunk._ It was too early for this. She didn't seem to pay him any mind, not turning around. Good. Normally she'd--

_Thu- thunk._

His head hit the head with the impact of the retaliation, making the sound echo. He lept up immediately, having no patience for it today. 

" _Olivia,_ do you _mind?_ " he snapped. 

She blinked up innocently at him, dark eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Damn gorgeous thing she was, the bitch. She only kept up the act for a moment before a grin cut her face, eyes going narrow with mean humor. 

"Oh! Good morning Alexander, I didn't see you there." She said, eyelids fluttering. Her chair remained wedged against his, awkwardly pinning his legs. "You're here earlier than normal, and just so... beige I must have glanced right over you. You're actually looking _extra_ beige today, is that a new tie?"

"Ha-ha." He said slowly, scowling at the young woman. He hated being the oldest on the team, always seeming to make him the target of all the juvenile teasing and pranks. Between the other three members, all in their early 30's, there was an abundance. Dr. Keaton seemed to take extra pleasure in pushing his buttons. "If you wouldn't mind tucking in your chair, I need to leave."

"Already?"

"Already. You're much easier to handle with caffeine dulling my senses."

"Ouch, how cruel." She said flatly. Olivia did scoot in her chair, however, letting him out. "Since you're going past the lab, pick up my notes I want to review before the brief."

He pointedly did _not_ look back, even as Dr. Keoton calls out his name, again and again, asking about her notes. Serves her right. 

Right as he passed the elevator, it dinged politely. He stilled, hoping for a chat with Ana. It was 6:12, he was surprised she hadn't already bustled in. The doors slid open, and Alex immediately regretted this decision. 

Craned over their marketing representative as she was, Lilith White did not immediately take notice of him. She nuzzled into the woman's hair, muttering something that made the girl laugh, embarrassed. Alexander Brown owed Miss Glovern quite a lot for her relationship with his superior, but that didn't mean he liked seeing it. 

Miss White was hard-edged and sharp, set in a scowl since, presumably, birth. Seeing her looking so very _soft_ was a special kind of terrifying, and he quickly cleared his throat. 

She snapped into her usual posture, eyes hard and trained on him. This particular fear he was more adept at handling. 

"Good morning ma'am; Miss Glovern." Angela smiled at him. Whites' lip twitched slightly. "I was just headed to the kitchen, would you like anything?"

"Oh, thank you, doctor, but no thank you. I'm late as is, but I just couldn't resist dropping off my Lilith on her floor." As she spoke she drug Whites head down to her level again, planting a kiss on her cheek. White flushed, glancing over to her subordinate. He knew better than to comment. "Get her something strong though, I don't know if you heard but someone had _another_ late night here. I didn't get her back until almost three if you can believe it!"

The elevator tried closing on the two of them, and Miss White was the one to catch it with her foot. Another kiss and she struggled away with a quiet promise Alexander couldn't quite catch. The elevator closed behind her, and they were alone. 

"Do you actually want a coffee?" 

She looked over him for a long moment, cold, distant, and exceptionally tired. 

"You know how I like it." 

She didn't move. Worried for his job security, he kept on his way. She was definitely in a mood today, he'd need to tell the others. Not irate, but worth treading lightly around. 

Three coffees tucked into his arm and holding a folder full of notes in his teeth, Dr. Brown carefully tread his way back to the main office. 

"Dr. Brown! Good morning, I see you've already rummaged around the kitchen; did you happen to pop your head in the fridge? I have a rat cooling in there and I forgot it overnight, hope it hasn't gone critical--" 

Unable to respond to his coworker and annoyed, Alexander grunted, still briskly walking back. As if on cue Oliva quickly strode past him to the secondary lab, plucking the file from his mouth, then calling thanks over her shoulder. Miss Whites' presence did that to the office, kicking everyone into gear.

"No, I didn't. If it was subject 1108J you'd better hope Miss White is feeling merciful, she spent a lot of time with that one."

"I don't remember their numbers you nerd, it's Patches." Dr. Feilds had an awful habit of naming each subject, a tick he'd rubbed off on almost everyone else. 

"Is the misses in?" he asked, setting one of the coffees down on Anas desk, who was still strangely absent. His tail shrugged.

"The beautiful Dr. Feilds and I carpooled this morning, but I haven't seen her in a minute. Might be a floor up, our friendly helpful marketing angel kept a few of the reference files again. Someones gotta talk to her about that..."

"Maybe Leona is."

"Maybe. Is one of those for me?"

"One is mine, the other has twelve shots of espresso in it."

"Oh shit, she's already in?" 

"She is, and not even twelve shots of expresso can save you if that damn rat went critical Earnest, _go."_

"Oh shit, right--" Dr. Feilds scurried off, leaving Dr. Brown to a moment of peace before he knocked on the head office door. 

No response. 

He entered, not bothering to glance around as he set the mug on her desk. The walls were as sterile as the day they were granted the floor, there was nothing to glance at. 

"Dr. Brown?" She said, surprising him as he turned to leave. "Staff evaluations are today."

"Another year already?"

"Mhm... tell the others for me okay? I need a second. Straughts wants me to include the marketing team this year and didn't bother telling me until I was in the lobby this morning." 

He didn't have anything to say to that really, but the way the comment left her did earn an extra glance. She hadn't bothered to turn on the lights yet, and in the dim room, next to a giant mountain of paperwork on an equally giant desk, she was looking rather small. He didn't often have to think of their age difference, more than two decades, but it was painfully apparent at the moment. 

"Of course. Ana first again?"

"Out."

He knew the extra question was pushing it and didn't hesitate again as he quickly left her office. 

"Lights off? She's in a mood?" Finally making her appearance, Ana Leopold leaned against her desk, sipping the provided coffee. 

"I can't get a perfect read on it yet, but keep any interns away from the floor." Brown didn't care for them either, uncomfortable with the fact someone so low level had a key to their floor, but White had a special hate for them. Olivia said before their boss had garnered her reputation, one mistook her for one of them and asked some menial task of her. Same age and all. True or not, Alexander was glad their paths had not yet crossed. "And if you spot Leona tell her to stay close, we're doing staff evaluations today."

"Shit."

"Mhm."

"While she's in a mood? That's an unsafe workplace environment, we should talk to someone."

"It's not bad, just... tired. I think. I'm not sure."

"Show me the face."

Dr. Brown dutifully mirrored his boss's face. Dr. Lopold hummed, clearly confused. 

"That _is_ a weird one. Are her and Miss Glovern okay?"

"Still strong as far as I can tell. Maybe that's what's causing the irregularities? I don't like speculation, but--"

"I find that hard to believe, looking at your last update on Snuffles' file Alexander, more than half of it sounded like, dare I say it, _educated guessing_. " Oliva said, letting herself into the conversation. 

"You know I don't know which ones you're referring to when you do so with the names Earnest gave them, you _know--"_

"Snuffles is the one with the funny ear right?"

"Are you two fucking daft, Snuffles is--"

The light flicked on in Miss Whites' office, and all three of them sat down immediately, silent and shuffling through the paper on each respective desk. 6:30. Had she not been sluggish at least one of them would have already received a citation for wasting time. 

Between the technically-unauthorized side project and the frenzy of assistance requests that the winter months always brought, everyone was working late. He exited the floor at ten last night, but there was still a generous supply of paperwork on his desk to chew through. Invigorating. 

An hour later Miss White was doing her usual rounds, eyeing over productivity and redirecting where she felt necessary. On her way back to her own office, she laid a gentle hand on Anas's shoulder. It was time for evaluations to begin. 

Familiar with the cue, Dr. Leopold rose and silently followed. Four pairs of eyes followed her sympathetically. 

An hour and a half later, Ana re-emerged. Everyone kept their eyes downcast, giving the Dr. privacy if she needed to collect herself. 

"Raymond." Miss White said. 

Mr. Bower stood, respectfully nodding his head as he dipped into her office. The door shut heavily behind their supervisor as she closed it after herself. 

Immediately, all eyes turned to Dr. Leopold. She sat in her desk quietly, an odd look on her face. She raised both arms above her head, turning her hands a few times. Her case was infamous, last evaluation walking out of the office with tears in her eyes and matching bracelets of bruises on each arm. There was none. 

"And?" Dr. Feilds asked quietly. 

Ana took a moment. Then, "We're buying Miss Glovern flowers." A moment of confusion passed between all of them. "I'm serious! We're all pitching in and buying that woman flowers, I've _never_ seen Miss White so mild. Did she tell me if I didn't improve productivity by a minimum of 7% next quarter she'd tear out my windpipe? Yes, so we know for sure it _is_ her, but she also smiled at me near the end. I think I need to sit down."

"You're already sitting down."

"I think I need to lie down." 

And thus, a pattern arose. 

No one had a bad time in her office. Earnest (commonly known as the weaker of the two Feilds) left crying, but no one was _unhappy_. Nothing that could be considered an _incident_ if any of them were so spineless as to report such things. 

Then, it was Dr. Alexaner Brown's turn. 

He didn't wait for a signal she'd never give, familiar in the routine. No one knew exactly how she chose the order, but he was always last. 

She didn't speak for a long moment after he sat down, still quietly looking over his folder. 

"Did you know that you haven't gone off the floor to handle an assignment with the team in three months?"

He swallowed, bracing. Mood or not, there was a low chance he'd be getting out of here without his pride in shreds. She was incredible like that. 

"Yes, ma'am. You asked me to take point on your side project, I just felt it was--"

"So you knew."

"Yes, ma'am."

She tuts, making a note in his folder. "When I asked that of you it was with the confidence you could handle the multitasking and quick thinking this job demands. If something has changed and I made some great, terrible mistake, let me know, hm? We'll find somewhere a little more suitable for you." She still hadn't bothered looking up, but he felt the prickle of her full attention clearly. "Can you handle the assignments?"

"I can." 

"Prove it. You're under Dr. Keaton for the next three the floor gets, I want results in a day or less each and a new format for Rapture, we've got another request in deliberation right now." 

"Wouldn't that mean it's too late for a new format?" 

He cringed as soon as the words left him, and sure enough, Miss White's gaze snapped to him, narrow and sharp. 

"Do we have a fucking problem? Is getting out of your chair for problem-solving just too much for you, or is it the creative aspect? I don't appreciate lazy, or _liars_ so really, if you can't handle it I'll let you retract your previous statement. Consequence free."

He stared straight ahead, carefully keeping his face neutral. 

"No?" she asked. "Perfect! So it's just a matter of just doing what the hell you're told then. I'd love it if we got approved! I'd fall on my fucking knees and weep if the board decided to grace us with that privilege-- but you know what?" 

He knew better than to guess. She bats her lashes at him, once, twice, continuing on the third. 

"I'm just not that optimistic anymore. The request has been in limbo for a few weeks now-- we all know what that means. So! Might as well get to work on the next format huh?" Is that okay with you? Can we just press on?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "It's not up to me Miss White," he said quietly. "That's your job."

"Oh it is, is it? I never would have guessed, what with the way you thought you could talk back to me there."

"I'll do better."

"You'll fucking _be_ better! This isn't the time or god damn place to _get_ better, _do_ better next time, you're on this team because you're the best! Fucking act like it, _please._ I need you to exert a little effort or get the fuck out of here!"

Despite having broken the record (not even a full minute till she was yelling), his supervisor wasn't cutting too terribly deep and seemed to wear herself out within five. Odd mood indeed. She snapped at him several times throughout the evaluation, yelled twice more, and slammed her hand on the desk once, but ultimately the only thing on Alexander's mind was just how worn she looked. Miss Glovern had a soothing effect for sure, but this wasn't the romantic sort of calmness she'd been radiating the past few months. This was a horse too tired to rise and fend off wolves.

That was bad. She wasn't surrounded by wolves, she was among other horses. Who's salaries she paid. Maybe Dr. Young counted as a wolf? But he hardly came up to this floor anymore, not after-- he was getting off-topic. 

She hadn't noticed though. Lilith White had fallen silent to match a few minutes prior, thumb rubbing her temple. 

"Miss White?" Her eyes flicked to him, but she said nothing. "I never asked, did you get accepted? For Standford, I mean."

Her lip twitched ever so, but there was no bite as she replied. "Of course I was accepted, who do you think you work for?"

"Classes would have started already, no?"

"Mh. Two months ago."

"I apologize for how late it is, but congratulations Miss White. Medschool can be quite a shock from standard college courses, and you've been--"

"Was there a point to this? Your evaluation is over Alexander, you can go."

"I was just wondering when I might get to call you Dr. White is all. I'd be honored to be the first." She shot him another odd look, this one lingering on his person. She was well versed in the carful verse he was using, just unsure what he was digging for. "Miss White, I know you fairly well at this point, don't tell me I'll be waiting 8 years."

"What? No. God, no. I'm doing accelerated courses." 

"Five then?" He had a colleague who'd managed five, and by the end he was a tittering, sleep-deprived mess. Should his supervisor attempt to do the same Alexander would be having a strong word with the team. The workload never got easier, they'd need to step up. Her laugh surprised him. 

"You really think I'd take five years?" Something was very, _very_ wrong in her smile, and it made a sudden sting of anxiety shoot through him. "You insult me, really. Try two or less. I'm there seven days a week Alex, and truthfully hoping for one."

"That's possible? Seven days a week?" 

"I'm a very persuasive woman Dr. Brown."

"Ah." he said weakly. He couldn't think of much else to say. The mood was explained at least, his boss was in the early stages of learning to simply stop being human. Seven days a week. It was a well-known secret she often slunk into the office on the weekends to wrap up whatever it was she deemed crucial. Seven days a week, presumably night courses. "That. Yes, that does seem to fit you, Miss White."

Her head tilted ever so slightly, grin stretching. She was daring him. What exactly was beyond him, but it didn't matter much. Everyone knew never to take her on a dare. 

"If that's all?" she asked airily, tone not fitting with the sudden weight of the atmosphere. 

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you." 

He let himself out, motioning for a round table. As all his coworkers had been trained on him the moment he stepped out anyway, they were quick to gather around his desk. As quickly and as low as he could manage, Alexander explained the mood and its reason. Both Feilds had the decency to look concerned, but they seemed to be the only two. 

"She's a grown woman Alex, she knows what she can and can't handle," Ana said simply. "I mean, that's a lot, yeah, but she can always ease off if it's too much." 

Oliva, in a very predictable move, seemed to take offense. "She's 23, I hardly consider that _grown._ It's a stupid move, but peoples early '20s are all supposed to be stupid moves so," she shrugged "Why not let her go for a while. She's milder than she has been in a long time, whatever the reason." 

"Three years and you still talk about her like she's some sort of _entity_ " Leona scolded, coming back to herself before her husband could. "She's _ours_ and she's making an unhealthy decision, someone 'ought to have a word with her about it. Davis has been pushing far too hard anyway, this can't spell good, poor thing."

"What Miss White does and does not do to take care of herself really isn't our concern, I would have thought _she_ made that clear." Alex said, trying to reel control of the conversation back to himself. "Certain aspects we can't overlook from a _professional_ standpoint, however. Who here honestly expects her to stay this low energy?"

He was met with silence, proving his point. 

"And who here remembers the days before Rapture was first submitted to the board; when she took sole responsibility of the floor." All eyes turned to Raymond sadly, and between the fluorescents and his now blanched face, it was almost as though the bruise was still there. 

"That's what I thought. While perfectly capable, she gets... off. As her team it's our responsibility to try and lighten any load she's getting, not only for her sake but for ours. The last thing we need is the board snooping around the floor with so many sensitive assets in play with, uh, complicated legality. And what did Miss White tell us to do, no matter what?"

"Keep the fucking rats away from our rats" the team droned back. 

"Exactly. And we can keep them away by ensuing she doesn't have another SIO, no matter what. For now--"

All eyes snapped to the right, wide and terrified. Lilith White had started screaming. 

No one moved a muscle. She just kept on, wild, terrified, constant. Their plan had been decent, but ultimately poorly timed. The office was soundproof for a reason though, and there was no one else on their floor. It wasn't ruined yet. 

Dr. Feilds was the first to go to action. He said something to his wife, businesslike and urgent, before darting to the lab. Olivia was next, snatching her pencil cup off the desk and shoving it into a drawer, repeating it all over the office with hurried motions. Best not to give her easy weapons.

Dr. Keaton's movements spurred the rest on, and they all quickly moved across the floor, racing through necessary, practiced precautions. She was tired, and mild, and screaming her head off in her office, which was now also full of crashing sounds, a bad sign if there ever was one. 

A minute passed and they all sat back down, breathing hard-- all except Leona. As the most empathetic, she'd been designated the first responder years ago. At this point they'd all agreed it had a reverse effect on Miss White herself as well, being more prone to calm if it was her over another member of the team. She knocked twice. The crashing didn't stop. 

Leona knocked once more, loud enough to be heard but gentle still. 

"Miss White?" 

Another knock. Nothing. 

Alexander heard Leona take a deep breath, and from the corner of his eye watched her open the door and step in. 

There was a particularly high definition crash as Dr. Feilds had to immediately drop to the ground to avoid... It looked like a printer that was thrown at her head. No one moved, though he did feel Dr. Keaton flinch behind him. 

"Miss White what's wrong, are you--"

"Who fucking said you could-- You, you you what did she ask for yesterday what did she take I need it _now--"_

"Ma'am I don't know what you're--" Another crash, and Leona rolled further into the office. 

"Can you act a _little_ concerned just a _little_ that's all I need! What the fuck did she ask for, where is it now, and fucking get rid of it! Please pretty please act like you know what the hell your job entails please or we're FUCKED! Fuck, fuck get--" 

There was a thud, and the floor went silent. If it lasted more than 30 seconds someone would step in, but--

Another crash and Dr. Feilds scampered out again like a scared cat, hair strewn and bits of computer following her steps. She ran over to her desk and frantically dug through the filing cabinet, finding her target just as their boss stepped out. 

She was out of her office, the line in the sand crossed. No longer needing to play dutiful, her team rose in apprehension, quickly backing away as she strode over. 

"I-it's all here the file is complete ma'am, I don't see anything--" Leona yelped as the folder was snatched from her, then immediately torn to shreds. 

"It doesn't really matter what is and isn't here sweetpea, she _had_ it without supervision and now we're _compromised_!" White turned on her heel, now addressing the rest of the room. "And it's my fault! I'm _so_ fucking sorry everyone! I'm so fucking sorry I let this happen, but! But but but don't worry, I'm fixing it, yeah? Don't mind me, I'll just-- I'll just be fixing it, it's what I do don't worry we're gonna be okay!"

Leona tried laying a comforting hand on their boss, who immediately lashed out, shoving her away. Should have known better really. 

With quick, frantic movements she moved from desk to desk, ripping paperwork out in a pattern at the very least Dr. Brown couldn't follow. Each one was promptly ripped to shreds. Everyone let her at their desk without fuss or comment, though the wincing when their last few weeks of work was destroyed. As long as she didn't--

"Bower."

Raymond was pressed to his desk, trembling hand slammed over a file. Red tag. Dr. Brown winced. He thought he'd collected all priority works. 

"Y-yes ma'am?"

"I need that. Right there? Under your hand? You see it, I need it. Stand down." Wide-eyed and pressed close, Miss White smiled dangerously. Even from across the room, as Alex was, he could see the sweat drip down his coworker's temple. 

"That's a priority file."

"Well, I sure fucking hope it is Rayray. You know what else it is?"

"Ma'am--" She was crawling over him, hand tight in his hair for leverage. 

"It's a fucking _liability--_ Rapture can stay on the backburner forever I don't care I don't care but it will _never_ belong to _him_ she-- It's my fault I know it's my fault I let her up here I'm sorry Ray give me the folder please give me the folder then I'll get rid of her please work with me please I promise _give it to me--"_

And so on. Raymond, to his credit, didn't budge. Tears started after she straddled him on the desk, going into an inaudible hiss in his ear, but he didn't budge. 

"Olivia," Alexander muttered. She didn't respond, but a flick of the eyes let him know he had her attention. "Call Eden." 

She didn't move.

" _Olivia."_

She stepped away from him, hands clenched by her sides. Should have tried Ana, Dr. Keaton had a nasty dislike for Aaron Eden and the way he did his business. 

Raymond's head hit the desk with a nasty crack, and his boss slid off him with a huff. 

"You're right, I'm a stupid crazy bitch, _forgive me_."

"I didn't--" he started, but she launched on him again, snarling. Wild thing she was, Raymond Bower was just plain _big_ , and she didn't compare. With a heave, she was laid out on her back with her subordinate stuttering out apologies and explanations. She seemed dazed, but that was a step up from a paranoid, angry wreck. 

"Miss White? Oh shit, I'm so sorry ma'am-- please we can't get rid of this one there aren't any copies of a red file, as per your request, I-- are you alright--"

Though Alexander tried earnestly not to think of his boss on his own time, he'd admittedly spent a few particularly dull nights theorizing. His specialty was human systems, but phycology was a guilty pleasure. Rapid mood swings and paranoia was an easy indicator of a strand of BPD, possibly bipolar, though she was in the age when schizophrenia was known to manifest as well. The ladder made him a tad uncomfortable, though god knows their field was littered with enough of them to be considered commonplace. 

Regardless, be it illness or plain neuroticism, Miss Lilith White was prone to stress-induced delusions. That much was easy. And the number one rule when handling a person with delusions was _never_ \--

"Copies?" Miss White asked, having gone very pale. 

Add to those delusions. No matter how small it seemed.

"Copies-- she'd be an idiot not to make copies-- _I'm_ an idiot for not considering-- I need to go, _now."_ She rose from the floor and immediately set off towards the elevator, presumably to continue the information purge on another floor, and Dr. Brown finally had to reach out and grab hold. The team needed their helm, and that meant keeping her from an incident report. God help them all if she actually snapped at some poor idiot. 

She froze, though his grip could hardly be considered restraining just yet. 

"Dr. Brown?"

"Miss White."

"You do want me to handle the information breach?"

"If there was a--"

" _If there was--_ do you think I'm _lying_? After our little chat earlier? Or do you think I'm stupid?"

"Miss White--"

" _That's_ it isn't it? You _want_ me to be stupid at least, make your life so much fucking easier wouldn't it, are you in on it? Of course, it'd be _you--"_

No time or want to dissect that, he gently reached for her other wrist, internally cursing himself for taking her right one first. Palm down, movements slow as she rambled and tried jerking away, least she--

Something popped in his jaw when she hit it, the infamous left hook just as nasty as he remembered, though it'd been a while since Alexander had personally felt it. He hated wrestling with White, usually only serving to rile her up further and flare up an old pain in his hip, but necessary evils and all. This was his least favorite use of that term. 

He wasn't sure how long he lasted, focus only on keeping her safely away from the elevator, but he was distinctly aware when the doors slid open. Not from his superior, screaming and thrashing under him, but from the one man in the whole building who had a decent authority on her. 

(Technically every member of the board outranked their boss, as did anyone with _executive_ in the title to a lesser extent, but actual authority was a very different matter. Very few people held the same _weight_ as Lilith White, one of hells own furies on the fourteenth floor. She'd been delighted for days after overhearing that nickname in particular.)

Aaron Eden quickly strode over to where boss and employee were tangled on the floor, hauling the former up by her upper arm. It took maybe two moments for her to recognize the man that now had her, and she practically melted, honest _relief_ clearly painted across her face. 

" _Eden_ ," she said, "We've got a rat problem; I need a favor, I know it looks bad here but we've had a breach, my fault but you can--"

"Lilith." He always sounded so very tired when addressing her. Keeping a hold of her upper arm, they maneuvered back into her office. The click of the door shutting felt louder than it had any right to be. 

No one said anything for a while after that, each member slowly getting back to business in their own time. An hour or so in yelling could be heard through the walls, but no one paid any mind. The two officers had their routine, the same as the team did. 

"Thank you for calling." Dr. Brown said at last, to Olivia. 

"Not me, Earnest did." she said shortly. Evidently, she was none too happy with the days' outcome. He looked to Dr. Feilds, who simply nodded. 

Six came, and Ana quietly left, no progress able to be made without Miss White's approval. 

Six-thirty and both Feilds said a quiet, tired goodbye. 

At seven Eden re-emerged, shutting the office door behind him. The lights were off. He stopped for a moment on his way out, pausing by Dr. Brown's desk. 

"She didn't... fire you? Did she?" he asked. "I saw you two had a bit of a spat."

Though it was a high probability he had been in the garbled yelling, Alexander knew better than to pay it any mind. He shook his head. Eden sighed.

"Good, good. We appreciate the work you do, Dr. Sometimes I need a little help keeping Lilith under wraps." 

Alex didn't miss the slight hesitation before he said Dr., eloquently proving Eden did _not_ , in fact, know his name, nor the slight tension coming from Oliva behind him. Eden and Whites' relationship, professional or otherwise, was complicated at the best of times. If Lilith White was capable of relationships out of the professional that was. But none of it really mattered, so Alex just nodded. He'd like to carry on with his work. 

Eden stopped trying, just sighed and moved on to the elevator. Once he was in and headed down, Dr. Keaton was next to pack her things. 

He and Mr. Bower seemed to be the ones sticking it out tonight, though Alex couldn't fathom what his overtime partner could be doing. But, it _was_ winter. Winter put more work on everyone, so Alex didn't bother to pester him. 

Several more hours fell, most of which Dr. Browns spent trying to catalog what documents were destroyed through the day, if they were salvageable, and what would need to be done if they weren't. It was slow work, but not terribly hard. He didn't know what time it was when Raymond finally decided to say goodnight. Late enough for it to have been dark for several hours. 

It was just them for a while after that, pouring over their backup archive, getting up and about the floor when necessity, marking new folders. Much to his embarrassment, he jumped when his boss spoke up. 

"Late night?" she simply said. Her eyes were too bright when he turned to look at her, standing in the doorway of her dark office. He didn't attempt to meet them. 

"There's always work to be done, Miss White."

She smiled at him, a tired, sad thing. 

"That there is. Tomorrow I want you on point with Bower, Feilds, and I. There's some cleaning we'll need to handle thanks to today's mess." 

"Both Feilds?"

"No. Just Leona, have to leave _someone_ trustworthy on the floor."

He nodded, willing to let that be all. She didn't drop her gaze thought. Eventually, we worked up enough nerve to speak again.

"What was today's mess?"

She tilted her head, chewing on her answer for a long minute. "You're wearing it on your jaw."

"End result I mean, ma'am."

"Our marketing team is gone. I can't afford to let snakes in my garden, not when we're so close to approval." He stared. She continued. "Their lead was working for a third-party investment company Alexander, you should know how dangerous that is for a startup or new project. I can't let Rapture get sharked. So. So she's gone."

"...Miss Glovern?"

She said nothing. Pity. They'd been nice together. 

"I'm sorry, Miss White."

A bark of a laugh rang out, without humor or joy. "I am too. But Eden's taken care of it for me, and she won't be back in the morning thank god. We'll be fine."

" _He's_ firing her?"

"Mhm. Told you, I'm remarkably persuasive." 

Another few moments of silence.

"When does your class start?"

"Midnight. It's not worth driving home, napping for an hour, then driving back to the city. I'm staying."

"You should still try getting some rest, ma'am."

"As should you Brown. Don't expect me to go easy on you tomorrow since you stayed late, it's your own fault for not taking care of yourself."

"Of course."

She slipped back into her office with that, pulling the door carelessly. It didn't close all the way, and in the gloom of the office, she didn't seem to notice. Or care. 

Alexander Brown liked working on the thirteenth floor. He liked the work very much and he liked his coworkers, even if they could be difficult at the worst times. He liked his boss. No one matched her, in his experience not in capability, weight, and trust. Despite the semi-regular bouts of paranoia, she trusted her team, trusted _him_ , an exceptional amount. To know what needed to be done and then do it, to place work higher than feelings, to keep things, no matter what, professional. She loved professionalism. So did he, and respected her quite a bit for remaining largely a mystery to the whole team for the three years they'd been hers. Mental shortcomings notwithstanding. 

It was this professionalism that drove him to pack his things several hours before he originally thought he'd be leaving, brisk but careful not to rush, not to make a sound. He should have told her the door was cracked when she closed it, he'd be able to stay then, wouldn't have had to hear it- and by extension, step on their professional relationship. 

Lilith White hard-edged and sharp, scowl set since, presumably, birth. He liked that image, appreciating how hard she worked to maintain it. The gentle sounds through the dark office, soft but perfectly recognizable; a woman crying, broke the image. And that just wouldn't do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each member of the team has their own reasons for putting up with the things they do, be it healthy or not. And Lilith White, healthy or not, is theirs just the same as they are hers.


	11. Picture Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here we are. In the middle of writing this I was tragically struck with the thought: “This doesn’t sound real. It’s improbable, unlikely, and frankly a little cruel.” Then, I had a revelation. This is my character. If I wanted to know a person like this, I’d walk my ass out into the world and find them. I’d dig through trauma after trauma after trauma until I found the perfect match. But I don’t want to do that. I want to write a work of fiction, and enjoy that fiction for what it is. Fuck off.

It hadn't been exhilarating tonight. 

He'd lunged with great effort, ripped up his soft palms on the stones, _wanted_ it just as bad as any other, and he'd failed. He always failed, but this time he didn't particularly care, and that was terrifying in its own right. 

The stars were delightful tonight. Dazzling and mischievous, he watched them with dull eyes. He felt like crying, and yet no tears came forth, for he didn't even know _why_ he felt such. He'd never been able to clear the wall anyway, this failure wasn't anything new. Hardly felt worth crying over. 

The thought didn't make the feeling go away, but he thought it in earnest anyway. 

After a while, the young man rose, not bothering to dust himself off. The wall loomed over him, casting a chilling shadow he didn't much appreciate. Something odd detected in the darkness though, he paused a moment to look back.

Upon the wall, sitting daintily where he'd never be able to reach, was another elf. It stared down at him, funny sort of smile just visible with the moon on it's back, watching him carefully. He looked up to it, and it looked down at him. He didn't have the mind to care at the moment. 

A final glance around the garden, and he sighed. It was a perfect night for... something. He didn't like much of anything, but he supposed someone who _did_ would have loved doing them on a night like this. Eyes still following him, he drug himself to the door inside. 

The handle stung his hands, but he'd learned not to care. Right, down the hallway, two lefts, through the ballroom, another right, and a shortcut through a guest bedroom, and he was home. Relatively. The walls didn't feel like home, nor the furnishings inside the room, or even the assorted knick-knacks meant to hold his attention. The large stack of books on the desk _especially_ didn't feel like home, wretched things. Though quite quick with math, the past several decades had been swamped with history, languages, and god help him-- socioeconomics. Dull, the lot of them. Math was too, but at least he'd been good at it. 

He collapsed on the bed in a decidedly unsatisfactory way, the damn thing still much too firm, no matter how much extra fluff he piled on top. He didn't bother removing any clothing or burrowing under the plush, just closed his eyes and willed himself to be... somewhere that wasn't here. He wasn't a fan of geography either. 

"Sweetness, your bangs. _Again._ " 

He blinked, coming back to himself. He wasn't where he had laid down. Daylight shone resolutely through the pulled curtains, drab red things. Red meant he was in a library. 

"What?" he asked, trying to work out what was in the book in front of him. Either he was still coming back to himself or it was in some esoteric language. Both are likely. 

His mother pursed her lips for just a moment before settling next to him on the lounge, pulling his hair out of his face and pinning it flat behind an ear. 

"What was the point of giving you that pretty face if every time I look over I don't even get to see it?" she asked, petting over his ear. He didn't care for the touch, but she'd get teary if he asked her to stop. It just wasn't worth it. 

"The clips just not strong enough, and I never notice it." he said simply. It was true enough, the flimsy thing was no match for his curls, but it always managed to last until he got fed up and ripped it out. 

"Oh! Poor thing, are they popping your ear?" she asked, the genuine concern making him squirm slightly. He made a noncommitted whine, which she instantly misunderstood to be confirmation. Before he could protest he was scooped up and deposited in a lump on her lap, book tossed aside. Smothered in her affections, he didn't feel the need to correct her. 

She thought he was pretty, and while he never protested the idea wasn't one he could agree with. He was too small, and while both parents had a handsome grace, he could find none in his features. Not like his mother, hips, lips and face too thin, and certainly not like his father, with his delicate set shoulders and large eyes. Whatever had happened, the young man resented it. 

His mother often seemed to forget he was well into his forties with his slight size and had a habit of plucking him up whenever she pleased. It wasn't something that bothered him, but something said it should have-- which was silly. Being bothered never did anyone any good, and wouldn't make him the exception. 

He went to lean his head on her collar, only to meet nothing. 

He was standing alone in a hallway he didn't quite recognize. The why alluded him, but he wasn't startled by the development. 

A door opened suddenly to his left, and he saw his father's back retreating into the study. Oh. 

"I asked you to be here at eight _exactly_. Do you how late you are?" he asked, settling in a large armchair and opening a book. He didn't bother looking at his son, never having needed to before.

"It won't happen again, sir."

"I sincerely wish I could believe that. Sit and begin." A turn of the page. The young man wandered in, curling up on the lounge opposite the chair, but had no idea what begin meant. So, he was still and silent. After a few moments, his father signed, closing his eyes in exasperation. "You weren't paying attention at dinner, were you?"

He honestly hadn't even known it was nighttime again, but that wasn't something he'd be vocalizing. Excuses never really mattered. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm here now."

His father tossed a book his way, which he recognized vaguely. His hands at least knew the feel of the cover.

"It's a progress check for your studies. Summarize." he turned another page, head tilting slightly. 

He had no idea what the book was over, but his mouth moved anyway, describing each chapter, then the work as a whole. When he was done, his father tossed him another book over he supposedly knew. The process wasn't something he relished in, and while he'd like to tune out, it proved difficult. The turn of the pages of his father's book kept drawing his attention. He didn't know why. 

Eventually, after he'd finished yet another book, another one was not tossed his way. He sat still, waiting. His father didn't say anything, he just kept reading. Something close to a frown would have pulled at his son's lips, had he been bothered by the lack of attention. 

"Do you plan on burning all of these?" he asked. 

"Excuse me?"

"All the books I mean." he clarified, blinking slowly. "After you get me to memorize all of them, what use will they have? Might as well, Mother wants another sewing room."

Something unpleasant curled over his father's face, a certain type of distaste. He looked away from the book at least but turned his gaze instead to the fireplace. 

"Is that who you are?"

"...Pardon?"

" _Cheeky_ like that, is that who you are?" he asked, gazing into the hearth, oblivious or uncaring that his son was staring at him. "I'd hope not, it's unbecoming." 

"...I don't know." he said honestly, suddenly uncomfortable. He blinked, and his father's coat had changed, a rich green now instead of brown. 

"Of course you don't."

"What does _that_ mean?" He asked sharply, suddenly defensive. 

"You're young, son. You'll figure yourself out when you're older." His father said, suddenly in bedclothes next his son blinked. They had this conversation often.

"How exactly am I to do that _stuck_ in here? I'm not even that young anymore, I'm forty-three--"

His father stood up, world-shifting under them. The entranceway formed, regal and gaudy. His opponent was in his business clothes, covered in starched fabric and gold. 

"You're fifty." That took him by surprise, and heat found his cheeks immediately. "You're _fifty_ and it'll be an honest miracle if you can convince me you're ready for the world in the _next_ fifty-- for god's sake can't you give even your own _age_ the slightest attention?"

"I-- It's not my fault--"

His father tutted, pulling on his gloves. "It never is, is it? _Focus_ , just a little-- on anything, and we'll talk again."

"But--"

" _No."_

All at once, he saw the other elf again. It stood where he had just before, and it took a few moments to understand he was looking in a mirror. Where it came from was anyone's guess, but it was fact nonetheless. Sort of. Something was wrong with the way it was standing, in its eyes. 

It... It was sure feeling _something,_ though on the mystery of his own features it would probably be staying a mystery. 

Angry, maybe. 

It didn't stick around, however, and he found himself without his mirror as his father opened the door. As he came back to himself, he must've made a small sound. He didn't hear it, but his father might have. He stalled, heaving a sigh. 

Eye's cast on the ground, he didn't meet them when he turned around. He wasn't sure what color they were. 

His father knelt down, pulling him into a hug. Both parents towered over him, and the remainder of his size certainly wasn't helping him bounce back. 

"You know I love you," he muttered, holding him closer still. "You must. I know it's hard, but you have to _try,_ darling _._ This is for you." 

There was no twin this time. It was just him, suddenly furious at the notion _any_ of this had _ever_ been about him, rather his mother's wretched, overbearing nesting instinct coupled with the man in front of him's neurotic need to save face. Like the first thing he'd do when he was finally let out would be embarrassing himself in front of some lord then promptly kneeling over dead. 

He shoved his father away, turned on his heel, and bolted. 

Four rights, two lefts, skid through the drawing-room, then the study with the broken chair, down two hallways and another left. 

He didn't bother winding up, nor taking a practice lap. He lept at the wall, clawing and struggling and _wanting._ He didn't make it first try, or the next, or the next after than. He panted, winding up for another. It made him feel better when he'd first tried decades ago, when he still felt real enough to feel more than bored, he wanted it to make him feel better now. It didn't matter that he never made it to the top, it used to make him feel better to try. 

Another jump, and his arm wrapped around the top, scratching on the stones. He wasn't strong enough to hold on more than a moment, and when he fell a stone was dislodged with him. He landed heavily in the grass, flat on his back as always, it landed on his hip, hurting far more than such a thing had reason to. 

It didn't make him feel better this time. 

"Sweetness, is that you under all that fluff?" his mother said sweetly, tugging the blanket off his head. The stars above him ripped and tore, exposing the white of his ceiling. "There you are darling, you looked just like a little toy under the blankets, I wasn't sure."

His hands stung something awful, his hip still throbbed. It was probably the next morning then. His mother picked him up, hugging him close to her chest and kissing over the top of his head. He let her for what he assumed was an appropriate amount of time, only to pull away to find his hands covered in scabs. Motherfucker. 

"Mother?" he asked. She glanced down, seemingly surprised to see her son in her lap as she took her tea. 

"Honey how do you manage this, I swear..." she said, setting her teacup down lightly.

"What do you--" His bangs were pulled out of his face, then snugly pinned behind his ear. Ah. 

"You 'ought to pay more attention to it, you know how much I love seeing your pretty eyes."

"Yes, Mother but--"

"No buts about it young man, I let you keep the bangs under one condition, that you _never_ follow. That's not fair, now is it?"

"No ma'am, but really--"

" _But--_ there it is again what did I just say? Oh, sweetheart not even you could forget it that quickly."

" _Mother!"_ he finally whined, infantile and sad. He hated just how little his voice could sound, but it always got her attention at least.

"Hm? Sweetness?"

"Did Father tell you about..." he didn't know how long it'd been. His hands were scabbed, but how long did that take really? Had he even known the date to begin with? "...The other night?" 

His mother took a moment, considering her answer. 

"He told me about your little spat if that's what you mean." She said carefully. He nodded. "What about it?"

He looked up at her, and she down to him. He didn't know why he asked really, it just felt like something he should. He knew he wouldn't find any sympathy, not like how he wanted, not the kind that would let him just _leave_ for a night. 

"I just..." he didn't know how to finish. He tried again, only for the words to get caught in his throat. After a while of watching him flounder, his mother hugged him. He was swallowed, lost in the fabric of her dress, the fluff of his hair barely brushing her collar. 

"You know I love you, and you know I'd do anything to keep you safe" she muttered, squeezing him. He nodded. He did know. "But sweetheart, you do know I want you _happy_ too, don't you?"

"I'm never _unhappy_ , Mother. I love you."

"Don't give me a political answer, I've dealt with your father giving me nothing but for centuries now." She squeezed him again, planting a dozen kisses up his ear. He made no move to make a better response and she didn't ask for one. His eyes closed after a while under the ministrations, and when he blinked them he was standing alone in the hallway. 

Almost all the scabs were gone, picked off or healed. He'd missed absentmindedly picking them off, though he's sure it must have hurt. Another fifty years couldn't be that hard to miss. It might just take some effort. 

"Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Darling stop this, I'm talking to you." His mother's voice was above him, though the ceiling didn't reveal much. He blinked around him, watching the wallpaper swirl. Easy enough. 

He snapped into focus with a jolt, almost tumbling off the lounge where he was perched. His mother giggled, kissing his forehead as he straightened. 

"There you are darling, I'd have thought you asleep if I didn't know better. Do you want to?"

He apparently hadn't tuned back in soon enough. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure of the question. Eventually, when she offered no help, he nodded. 

This seemed to be the correct answer, as she clapped her hands together happily and immediately hurried off, leaving him alone in his room. Odd. 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

The door slammed open, and he dropped the book he was holding in surprise. It couldn't have been more than a month. It _couldn't_ have been. Whatever he'd agreed to had an early detonation. 

"Why aren't you done up already, darling?" she asked, laying something over the bed. 

He felt himself stammer a few times, before choking out. "I wanted you."

This was the right path to go down yet again. His mother cooed at him, picking him up and depositing him in front of the vanity with a plunk. She kissed and nuzzled at him constantly, and never once stopped petting along one ear or the other as she fussed over his hair. Normally his cue to wander off in his head, he found himself a little too confused to try. 

Primped to her liking and dressed in material far too stiff and _green_ for his taste, he was sat in the entranceway, he was told sternly to _wait._

"Stand up." 

He did so immediately, turning to look at his father, equally dressed up. They were matching, though his own coat was a much lighter shade. Pieces were starting to click. 

"You understand what's expected of you tonight?"

" _Yes sir."_ he said, feeling breathless. This was a dream. This had to be a dream and he'd wake up and try to jump over the wall again. 

His father nodded, too busy with fixing his pipe for the night to look over his heir. "You're to stay on your mother's arm until we are seated, do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" 

"And if I were to introduce you, you would--"

He bowed, stiff and practiced but quick enough to betray his excitement. 

"...Yes. We'll go over more in the carriage when it arrives." 

He didn't listen to a damn thing in the carriage. The windows were small and dark, darker with the setting sun, but he was locked on them the entire ride to their destination. New terrain past too quickly to recognize, so he didn't try, just enjoying them as they flew by. 

He still didn't know what exactly was happening, but the excitement only grew the further they went. He didn't recognize the route, he didn't recognize the destination, he didn't recognize any of the people there. Reasonably he should be nervous, but it wasn't something he even considered. 

His mother was a nervous wreck, clutching his arm tightly anytime his head swiveled to take in a new sight or another patron got a little too close. She had yet to stop making pained, distressed sounds that inevitably drew her husband's attention. 

"Delphi, stop it he's doing fine."

"He's doing wonderful darling and I know I was the one to suggest this but we're here now and it's just so-- and he's just so--" 

Both of them looked down at him, and he politely ignored the pair in favor of examining a playbill. They were going to see a show! He'd be seated and silent in a private box far from everyone for roughly three hours, true (and probably the only reason they'd allowed it in the first place), but this was a definite step up. While he was mildly disappointed it wasn't a theatre performance, he was in no way complaining. 

"Chin up." 

There was a woman with a long feather in her hat, and the young man couldn't fathom why she'd wear it to an auditorium of all places. Even in a private box people were usually sat behind you. He thought it privately rude, and that taking it off would benefit everyone in many ways, ugly thing that it was. He was highly amused with himself for thinking such. He wouldn't get to be quietly catty had he been at home

A yank at his arm had him blinking back to focus, then up at his father. 

"What?"

"Keep your chin up, and _try_ and stay focused, will you? This is a treat, the least you could do is stay present."

That wasn't entirely fair-- he'd been perfectly present. In the conversation between his father and lord... something or other, no. But he had no intention of missing tonight-- not the important parts anyhow. 

After an argument he didn't bother listening to between his parents, he was eventually herded up to their box early. While he wasn't overjoyed with the action, he had no complaint to it-- people-watching at a distance was still better than nothing after all. 

"Sweetheart, don't lean over the railing, you'll fall."

"The rail is here for a reason," he said, honed in on a woman down below. He liked the color of her dress, though he couldn't remember the name of it. "I won't go over."

"You're light enough it wouldn't take much to tip, honey please."

He wasn't done, not remotely, but she had a tone that implied he'd soon be scooped up if he didn't back down, and he had no intention of spending the whole performance in her lap. He sat down without comment, though his mother did still end up cooing at him, pulling on his ear to coax him to her chest, sweetly murmuring about his pout. He didn't appreciate the tugs and did _not_ move out of his chair.

He was 59, this was his first time properly out, and he would _not_ be spending it on her lap. That was final. 

His father drifted in some minutes later, settling in between the two of them, something his son couldn't protest. His father was far less prone to grabbing him. 

"Straighten up son."

How the man could tell he was slouching without looking at him was incredible, and usually irritating, but at the moment he found himself not minding. He didn't say a word, just did as asked, attention now on the stage.

"When does it start?"

"The house is still open."

"What does that have to do with anything?" His father's lip twitched slightly, but he didn't say anything, just flicked a page in the playbill. "Well? Hello? _Hello?_ "

He didn't normally push his luck when it came to attention, and certainly not with his father. He felt a sort of way tonight though, so he might as well. 

"Is that who you are?"

Of fucking course his father would use that line. The young man sat back in his chair, mystery mood vanishing as he droned "What do you mean?" 

"Impatient, are you an impatient person?'

"No sir."

"Do you want to be?"

"What?"

"Do you want to be an impatient person, _focus._ "

"I am focused!"

"Ascal, let him be, he's just excited," his mother scolded, getting a grip on her husband's arm. For a short moment, he had an ally. "It's cute, isn't it?"

Even pressed into the chair as he was, vision obscured, he was positive he and his father's face were disgusted, offended mirrors of one another as they looked at his mother. His father had more experience, and as such, was able to recover first. 

"It's childish, Delphi."

"He's a _child,_ Ascal. Our child, remember?"

"Wait wait wait-- I'm _not_ childish!"

"Do _not_ interrupt your mother and I, _that's_ childish--"

"Defending myself, really? That's what you're calling--"

" _Stop it,"_ his father snapped, a type of rare, bone-deep annoyance in his tone "You're making a scene."

Someone the young man hadn't noticed was sharing the box spoke up, using his voice to do so. 

"Wouldn't a _'scene'_ require us to be in public?" it asked, a remarkably uncomfortable experience for him. His vocal cords weren't altogether familiar with the tone it chose, some type of sarcastic, petulant chirp. Had he any idea who he was, he would have thought it unlike himself. 

His father certainly thought so, and his mother behind him, both taken aback. 

"Don't tell me you haven't been here all this time-- we're _in_ public."

"Seems to me like we're in a _private_ box, and _you're_ the one raising their voice. How very odd."

With a twitch of his upper lip, his father turned away to face his mother. 

He didn't need his double to feel angry for him this time, though it's presence certainly helped. He'd been _looking_ while he'd been scolding his son, and his eyes were blue just the same as his sons. He didn't like arguing with his parents, but his insides felt molten in a way that wasn't entirely wretched. Scalding, of course, but not unbearable. 

"Righteous?" his mirror asked, still using his voice. It had draped itself over his shoulders, making the chair feel cramped, making the whole room feel cramped honestly. 

Maybe, though this was a stupid thing to feel righteous over. 

"But still, it's yours."

His mother's eyes flicked over to him, and he bit his lip. His chance of ever getting to come out again was growing slimmer by the minute, need not add talking to himself to this list of why. 

Cabin fever happened when one was still indoors, it didn't make much sense for him to lose it the moment he got _out._ But, here he was. And here it was, a physical weight across his shoulders, damn thing. 

As his mother and father continued to quietly bicker, it didn't try speaking again, just stared at the stage. He eventually fell in line. There wasn't much interesting up yet, just chairs upon chairs, but it's focus didn't waver, so neither did his. 

The lights dimmed, and his parents broke up, each sitting back heavily. 

"We'll talk about this later." his father said to open-air, irate. 

The world became even darker, and he felt wrong for breathing. 

Curtains raised, and soon each and every chair was filled. He wasn't sure how long it took, time around him having gone funny. 

He knew it must've started at some point, though it was. 

It just.

He.

The weight on his shoulders liquidated, dropping down into his stomach. It was. 

It wasn't unpleasant, but it was-- something. 

The lights came back on, and his chest hurt. His eyes hurt, his throat hurt, his head hurt. 

"Tch... They ran long, again." His father said, standing. "I told you this company was full of themselves." 

"It was the only one showing dear, and it was a good performance, wasn't it?"

It was over. 

There was a stiffness in his joints that made it seem plausible, but the thought didn't make sense in a way he couldn't pin down.

It was over. 

"--Up, I have to travel tomorrow, can't be getting back at sunrise."

The words were directed at him, but his eyes didn't leave the stage. 

"Son, if you're --"

"I'm here." he said quietly.

"We need to be going now."

"Sweet thing, are you tired?" His mother asked, moving around his father to cup his face. She blocked the stage, and he tried stretching up to continue his staring. "It did run a little longer than we thought, normally have you in bed by this hour."

"I have a _bedtime_?" he asked, incredulous. 

She just laughed like he'd made a particularly silly joke, pulling him up from the seat. 

Her hands felt odd on his, enough that he struggled away when she tried picking him up. He would have anyway as a matter of pride, but it was different. She felt different, _heavier_ almost. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. She at least seemed surprised, that much clear on her face. 

"No need to be fussy..." she said reproachfully, then turned to her husband. "Come on then, if we're going then _go,_ Ascal."

As a unit, they left their box and quickly swept through the hall to exit. He didn't miss the way he was protectively sandwiched in between his parents, but it didn't stop him from attempting to wander twice. 

One of the musicians was out in the main hallway. 

They were a gorgeous thing, long-legged with a handsome brow that continually dipped as they accepted praise from the small crowd around them. He wanted to ask how they _did_ that. His father caught him by the back of the coat after two steps. 

He hadn't heard a note of the performance. 

How did they _do_ that? 

He heard strings on the ride home. 

"We'll talk in the morning," his father said-- some kind of warning in his tone. It was hard to hear over the strumming. "We clearly need to address some--"

The strumming went fortissimo, drowning him out. How convenient. 

For the first time in a very long time, the young man was entirely aware as he walked through the dark house. The air was heavy and stale. The carpeted floors were stiff with disuse. He stopped in a guest room entirely foreign to him, though it was only a few doors down from his own. 

Purple walls, white curtains, red sheets. Maybe he'd sleep here tonight. 

He looked to the mantle.

A portrait, decadent and heavy, hung there. It's focus looked down at him with dull, far-off eyes. How poorly the painted creature wore his features.

He would _not_ be sleeping in this room tonight. 

Weeks later, he found himself still very...present. 

It was uncomfortable. 

It was frustrating. 

It was _boring_.

How perfectly he'd been settled in his boredom, how proud had he been of his ability to just _disappea_ r into it. Days, months, years had gone by without his notice, and yet now he was hard-pressed to lose a moment. 

He kept hearing music.

He'd start idly in on a task, comfortable and fond of the woodwinds in his ears, but stay too long, let his brain settle too deep, and they'd vanish. The silence was horribly unnerving. 

He'd then race around the home, desperate to find something interesting enough for it to return. He was 60 now. There wasn't much he hadn't put to dull routine left. 

"Stay still, I'll get it." his father said, sighing and tired. "Your mother would have a heart attack if I let you around broken glass."

It had been silent for almost two straight days. He hadn't noticed he was even in a kitchen, and the thought scared him. 

The floor was covered in shards of glass, presumably, from where he'd dropped a plate. His father had ducked out to find a broom. 

He knocked another one off the counter. It's shatter almost sounded like chimes. He picked up another, considering. 

They had eight kitchens, each stocked plenty with china. 

He _threw_ the plate down, yelping when a piece lept back at him from the force. The brass section had taken notice, pumping something playful and brave and _completely_ uncaring of the damages. Who fucking needed this much china. 

His father came back a few minutes later when he was attempting to rip an entire shelf out of the cabinet. He didn't say a word, just stared, open-mouthed, at his son up on the counter. 

His son decided he was a person who liked an audience. With a quick swipe of his arm, cleared the shelf of its cargo. The strings laughed with him as he left the kitchen, calling over his shoulder,

"Spare Mommy the details, I'd _hate_ for her to worry!"

It went on like that for a while, but there was only so much havoc he would wreak in a single home. He'd like to think the actual amount was much bigger but under current conditions, his maximum was impossible. His mother had inevitably taken notice and become quite worried over his new... moods.

Had the roles been reversed, he'd be concerned if his child had only _just begun_ displaying moods, not the fact they were having them at all; but alas, they were not. 

She loved him very much. He wasn't sure if she always told him this much, or it was a by-product of his outbursts, but he was hearing it constantly. 

Attached to her hip, the repetition of the words became part of the painful silence, and he felt guilty over that fact. He would have liked for them to mean something. 

Another month escaped him in an hour, and he felt sick. He made some sort of excuse to wiggle away from his mother, pushing off the lounge unsteadily. He lost a _month_. 

He had lost almost a full decade once, reasonably this should be small potatoes. But it wasn't. It was terrifying, the definition of _big_ potatoes. A _month._ That wasn't normal. This was _not_ normal, and he felt sick. His molten core has been lit up and burning; now he was actively _feeling_ it snuff out all over again. This place was snuffing him out. 

A weak pluck of strings. He didn't recognize the instrument, but it was _there._ He walked faster, and the instrument responded in kind. 

Right, left, left, left, through the hallway and passed the ballroom with the arch. Another right, cut through a kitchen. One more left. 

The front doorway looked different. The strings urged him on, quick and urgent. He took a step forward, and the instrument sang louder. 

He expected it to be locked. 

He'd never tried opening it, never bothered paying attention when his parents had, but he'd always been so sure it was locked from the inside. It wasn't. 

He stood like that for a while, hand on the twisted handle, breath quick. His head hurt with how forceful, how loud his strings were being plucked. 

It opened without a sound as he swung the door open, and doing so he turned off the world's sound. 

It was silent. 

Not his strings, not the night, not the ambiance of the house. 

Silent. 

He stood there for a long moment, eyes watering. This wasn't fair. 

The door was significantly harder to close. 

The mystery strings did not return.

He crawled back into his mother's lap, unaware of the journey back to her lounge, and let the silence have him for a while. 

He was back in the guestroom when he opened his eyes again. He heard the shift of fabric under him, which wasn't particularly comforting, but a good sign nonetheless. 

The portrait looked down at him. Though he was honestly trying to find names for the emotions that shot through him occasionally, the look in the poor thing's eyes was beyond him. He felt... sad as he looked up to it. His parents loved him very much and he was letting them live with _that._ Could hardly call the thing a person, let alone a child to have any sort of pride in. 

A fourth octave C.

It didn't ring out for long, or terribly loud, but it made him smile anyway. 

"A single note? That's all I get?" he asked, pitching his voice high to play with it. He looked to the painting as he spoke: "Where were you when I was trying to leave, hm?"

It didn't respond to him, though did continue a short little melody. 

"I thought that was the goal, just. _Leave,_ " he said. He now felt... this felt like anger. "They don't deserve whatever it is I am when I'm _that._ " 

The mirror's eyes didn't change, because it was stupid to expect it to. It didn't fucking feel things. 

He shook his head once, now frustrated. He was feeling frustrated, because that thing was _not_ a mirror, not right now anyway. He had the emotions to prove it. 

If they didn't deserve _that,_ his current unhappiness didn't make any god damn sense. He wasn't _that._ And he was unhappy. And his parents certainly didn't like whatever he was now either. Fucking christ. 

He didn't like the flute playing 'round him, no matter how relieved he was for its presence. It made it hard to think. 

"What's the fucking problem?" he asked to no one in particular. Maybe to the painting. Not sure. 

"It's not you. You never did anything wrong, did you? Hard to do things wrong when you just don't _do_ anything, ever. And, sorry, but it's not me either. They earned this, after so long with you."

He blinked slowly, considering. 

"But that, fuck. I don't know. It's not fun. I set one of Dad's atlas's on fire a while ago, the one with the blue ribbon? Didn't even fucking look at me. Just shooed me off and commissioned another one. 

"They don't like you. Not really, I don't think. You can't like nothing, no matter how hard you try. I mean, they love you, we know that for sure, god fucking help me they say it often enough. But that's different, they have to. They don't _like_ you, and they sure don't like _me,_ but leaving is a non-option. Where does that fucking leave us?" 

It said nothing because it never really cared when people were talking to it. It just sat, blank and unreadable. He understood vaguely why his parents didn't like it. 

He closed his eyes, rubbing at his temple. 

The flute tittered around him, light and playful. It really couldn't read the room, but it was welcome, at least for the melody. It made him think of running around in the garden, the brief few years that entertained him. He looked out the window. The guest room had a balcony, something his room did not. 

The night sky was speckled with stars, and the air was cold as he opened the door. The flute was very pleased with this development. It overlooked the garden, and he soaked it in for a long few moments. With winter on its way, there wasn't much to look at but it was nice anyway. Even the wall had a sort of a charm. 

"Maybe..." he said. The flute took an interest, though he wasn't speaking to it.

The balcony jutted out oddly over the yard. The wall seemed closer. 

"That's not fair, you know. I _tried_ leaving."

The flute didn't much care.

"How the hell is _that_ different, huh? This is stupid. Everything about this is stupid! I could have left out the front fucking door and just-- They'd--"

They'd know. They'd been on minimal staff since before he could remember, but there was a guard at the front gate. If he didn't stop him, he'd take note of where he went. Even if they couldn't find him, they'd just, _know._ For whatever reason, that didn't sit well with him. 

"I'm a remarkably petty person." 

It didn't matter if he only just decided it, saying it out loud made him feel giddy. 

He didn't want to leave, he wanted to run away without a fucking trace.

The mystery strings noticed him then and happily joined in. Light and soft, he'd still need a damn good jump. 

There wasn't a single thing he wanted out of this place, so there really was no sense in waiting. He closed the guest room door, carefully smoothed the blankets out over the bed, then shut the balcony doors behind him. Not a trace. 

He didn't know if he was a brave person or not, but as soon as the anxiety hit, so did the brass section. He didn't really need to figure that out yet. He practiced hopping up on the balcony a few times, making sure that he could, then ran a quick few laps around the terrace. If he missed this there was a decent chance he'd break a bone or two. Maybe his neck. The former was acceptable, though he probably wouldn't be allowed near a window for a few decades. The ladder was... The strings told him to stop thinking like that because he was feather-light and _would_ clear the wall. 

The painting gently knocked on the door. He didn't look back to it, already knowing everything he needed. 

He counted himself off, ran, then skidded to a stop. His hands shook as he gripped the railing. The brass sang louder, and he nodded.

"I know-- I know. I'm trying."

And he did try again. Twice. Each ended the same way, the second bringing tears to his eyes. He was scared.

_It's okay, this is scary. Be as scared as you want._

Whatever stringed instrument was chirping to him, the one from before, he decided he liked it very much. It made him feel calm. 

Another few laps. He was okay. He was scared, but that was okay. 

He jumped again, and there was the garden. 

There was the wall. 

And then there was the wall much too close to him, and the sickening sound of his ribs as he slammed overtop of it joined the orchestra. The momentum kept him lunging forward, and to his great surprise, he kept on rolling down a hill. Great, this is great. 

At a point he slammed into a tree, stopping him dead with a nasty crack on the head. 

He lay flat on his back, looking at the stars.

His shirt felt wet, sticky and warm, his chest concave, his head almost detached from his body. It was the worst thing he'd ever felt. 

The stars were gorgeous, and the last sound he heard before blackness overtook his vision was laughing, a clear and delighted bell joining the proud orchestra. 

***********************

Leaving home was one of the absolute dumbest, poorest timed decisions he'd ever made. It was the first, actually. 

Not that he minded. 

Not that he'd do a damn thing differently. 

"You alone tonight, sweet thing?" 

Not with perks like these. 

He swiveled in his chair, lounging his upper half on the bar. Human, dark hair, bright eyes. He wouldn't mind a bedwarmer if it looked like that. 

"I could be easily," he said, eyeing up the man next to him. "You're cuter."

It was hard to wink with only one eye, but the message usually hit home anyway with a little flair added in the neck. 

A hand snaked over his waist, and the human leaned in. A little tight, a little close, but he could give pointers later when things were a little more private. 

" 'm Jackson."

"Filligree," he said slowly, enjoying every syllable. "It's a pleasure."

Something crossed over his face, close to confusion, and he pulled back a fraction.

"Humor me for a second?"

"It's a little early to be asking favors from me you know, awful rude."

Jackson laughed, pulling him closer as his other hand dug for something on his belt. A paper was taken out, then unfolded and laid carefully on the bar. 

"Can you tell me if this is you, sugar?"

Filligree was all at once a little uncomfortable with how close Jackson was leaning over him, not to mention the sword on his hip. 

Face carefully blank, he picked up the worn parchment. Several things hit him at once. 

Firstly, he felt a certain pride in himself and his abilities. He'd been gone for almost three years now, and this was the very first poster he'd seen with _that_ name and photo. He was decently surprised it took this long.

Second, a new kind of anxiety found it's way into his chest. He knew his parents were likely looking for him in the back of his mind, but the efforts had never really come into his new life. This was... not something he had considered. Straight up wanted poster. Cool. 

Lastly, there was a certain sadness looking at the picture. 

There weren't many great references of him. Despite how prone he was to sitting perfectly still for hours at a time, he'd had his likeness painted maybe twice. They'd gone with the portrait in the guest room to represent him. The secondary artist was one of skill, really captured just how empty his eyes were. Jeez. 

The last point he could use at least. 

"Jackson?" he asked, lashes fluttering.

Jackson used a name that was _not_ his, not now not ever. Filligree decided he fucking hated Jackson, but the show must go on. 

" _Jackson,"_ he tried again sweetly. "Can you look at that photo again?"

Jackson did not, keeping his eyes level with Filligree. Fine.

"I know you must be a little... _new_ , to all of this, you're what, 20? But it's a little fucking insulting when you insinuate elves all look alike." Something like surprise filtered into his pretty bright eyes, and Filligree _had_ him. "Can you look at that photo and honestly say I look _anything_ like that little thing there?"

Twenty seconds of tense silence passed. Filligree sat perfectly still, checking over his cuticles. He knew the answer. 

The arm slowly released his waist. 

"What, don't you want to keep harassing me?" 

"... Filligree, was it?"

"Hmph. You can go if you'd like."

"I'd like to apologize, I really didn't intend to insult you." he said, tone awkward and tense. 

"Save it."

"I'm serious, please?"

" _Somehow_ your company isn't all that appealing anymore. I was drinking alone, I'd like to continue." 

"Then I'll buy your next round."

"For a 7 you're remarkably persistent," Filligree eventually snapped, getting frustrated. "One more and you get the fuck away from me, got it? Don't honestly trust you not to get me zozzled then throw a bag over my head."

"I--"

" _Save it._ Besides, I have another show coming up."

Jackson motioned to the barmaid, who held up a finger as she dealt with another patron. 

"...I heard you playing before."

"How long exactly have you been watching me?"

"Not like that! Spotting you was a coincidence, just got excited I suppose... You've got a talent."

"I know." 

An awkward beat passed (awkward for Jackson at least), then the sweet-faced girl made her way over. Filligree had been with the older barkeep before, settling down right as the shifts changes, and she greeted both of them like new customers. 

"What can I get you doves?" She asked brightly.

"I'm just ordering my friend something for his spirits, he'll have--"

"Brandy hound, please." Filligree cut in. "Thank you."

The girl smiled brightly at him, but it fell from her soft face as she went to write down the order.

"Are you sure, pretty thing?" She asked, not unkindly. "It's a little early, and that drinks a little _strong_ for--"

He raised a hand, lips pursed ever so. 

"Sweetheart, please," he said, feeling his signature grin creep over his face. He flipped his bangs just so, leaning over the bar. "I can take it-- do I _look_ like a child?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking forward now, to the person you wish you were  
> (do you want to be them, or do you just want to be a person?)  
> how strange they look, how ugly  
> how perfect in all of their them  
> jealously and anger and fear and lust and so, so much sadness  
> narcissism is an active choice, every day, to be hopelessly infatuated with yourself, no matter the tense.


	12. Sightseeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something about beauty, something about beholding.

Heather Prince was _not_ supposed to be here. In this building, yes. In this hall, no, but Aunt Georgina was taking _forever_ in the bathroom and this wedding was slotted for an hour ahead of theirs-- _reasonably_ there should be no one in the dressing room. 

"I get you're a fan of dramatic entrances, but this is the one day you don't need to be fashionably late to get one. I'm not sure if you know this, but you're the bride."

God fucking damn it, of course the bride would be in here. 

"Jack, don't, I'll--... Why are you covering your eye?"

"I'm not supposed to see you yet." 

Two for two, the grooms here too. Heather was stuck in the bathroom. At a wedding she didn't belong. With the two most important members of the company in the dressing room, blocking her way out. Her kind of luck. 

"Look, I'm sorry. I'll get out there."

An odd way for a bride to talk. Obviously, the groom agreed. It was snoopy, but Heather really couldn't tune out if she tried. Thin walls.

"That's a hell of a way of putting _literally_ walking down the aisle." A beat of silence, then a shift of fabric. Something soft, close to awe. "Oh."

Cute.

One of them hiccuped softly, presumably the bride, that had the groom quickly shifting gears.

" _Oh._ Oh, Lilith, hey it's okay; I knew this was going to be a little much. It's okay, we don't--"

" _No,_ no no no Jack I _want_ to it just-- I-- Who invited all these people?"

"I was under the impression we did."

"Jack!"

" _Lilith?_ "

Heather was suddenly uncomfortable, conversation no longer quite as cute.

"I-- I know _we_ did but..."

"But?"

"But it was like all the rest of _this._ "

"Use your words, Miss White."

"Hypothetical! It was hypothetical! For my wedding, _hypothetically_ I'd want gold accents, _hypothetically_ this is the kind of dress I'd like, _hypothetically_ I could refrain from being a psycho, neurotic--"

"Deep breath." The softer sounds were lost through the door, but the deep, rattling breath from the bride was plain as anything. "Okay, now what's wrong?"

"... It was fun when it was hypothetical. I liked looking at flowers and arguing with you about seating arrangements and fucking with the caterers with your food allergies--"

"My what--"

"But it was always... I don't know. Whenever I'd think about ' _my wedding_ ' I just saw you. I kind of wish I was only seeing you right now." There was a pause that Heather couldn't really tell the tone of, then: "Because you look great. And I love you."

Whoever the groom was, he had a movie-star kind of laugh. It was nice, and she absently wondered if it fit his face. 

There was another long moment of silence. Heather had to sneeze. 

"Let's go."

"Bless you."

"Ha-ha. Let's leave, Lilith."

"I want to marry you, Jack."

"And you did. Legally, you became Mrs. Lilith White-Diamond two days ago."

"You're counting that?"

"For now I am. Come on, they've been waiting long enough anyway. They can wait a while more."

"Does this count as eloping?"

"Does that count as a yes?"

There was a lot of shuffling, a lot of giggling, then the sound of the door shutting. 

It was silent for several minutes before Heather dared to peak out of the bathroom. She wondered if she should tell someone. 

****************

"No, I'm saying I'm a little busy right now."

They were incredible late. Tom had told his boss, again and again, that they should be rented by the hour, not by the event for this reason exactly. The bride probably ran out on the whole thing, and this was a massive waste of time. 

"I don't really give a shit how many heads it has, I specifically asked not to be called today. Hey hey hey don't get fucking nasty with me--"

At least the guest list kept things interesting. 

One guest in particular that had stepped away from the crowd for a phone call was currently keeping Tom's attention. 

"With the red handle. You called me to bail your ass out, might as well take the advice-- No, do _not_ call him, I know what I'm talking about. Besides he's busy too. Because he's here _with_ me! _Jesus_ \--"

It'd been going on like this for several minutes, a decently entertaining background to arranging and re-arranging silverware. 

Suddenly, a hand reached out from the hallway and snagged the robot by the scruff. He dropped the cellphone with a yelp, choking. Tom wondered if robots could actually choke. 

"Easy! Easy I'm in a tie-- Oh. You're a little off your mark, this is actually the reception area."

"Shut it, where is it."

"You know I love guessing games but-- Hey hey stop it, get-- _Hey--_ I'm not the tinman you should be molesting today take it easy--" 

It was at this Tim felt the need to intervene, and quickly popped his head into the hallway.

"Is everything alright?"

Three eyes whipped to him, all narrow and annoyed. Two of which belonged to the fucking bride, if the dress meant anything. Shit. 

"Do you fucking mind?" she snapped.

The robot, whom Tim had assumed would welcome the assistance with her hands half in his pants, looked equally miffed at him. 

"We're kind of in the middle of something here, pal." it said, almost snarling. 

"Can you mind your own business?"

"The lady didn't hire you to snoop in."

"If you have a problem then let's talk, but I really hope you _don't._ "

"Doesn't matter if she's running behind you 'ought to be ready to go, not trying to pry into her shit--"

"Fine!" Tim eventually relented, hands up in surrender. "I'm sorry, I'll just-- I'll just be going."

" _Please._ " the bride snapped. The robot huffed, and the pair of them watched him retreat back into the main area. As soon as he could no longer see them, he heard the scuffle start up again. 

"What the hell are you--"

"Stop squirming--"

" _Easy_ woman you've got press on claws--"

"Don't be a-- Oh. Here we go."

" _That?_ You could have asked for that!"

"Shut up. See you later."

"Hold it you don't get to just dig around in my circuits without an explanation, why do you need it? Your boy's not the type-- getting nervous?"

"Queensly."

"I'm not the one acting suspiciously here, you get that right? Why are you trying to get your fiancee drunk on--"

"Running far enough behind as it is-- go sit down, will you? I've got to go."

"You're telling me after the ceremony." The bride laughed at that, loud and long. "Hey, take it easy Dr. Doom, what's so--"

"I'll tell you after the ceremony. _Go._ And fix your pants."

The fading click of heels signaled her exit, an a few beats later the robot walked back into the hall to collect his phone. Tom was quick to look busy when glanced at. He wondered if he should tell someone. 

****************

Nina, despite all the high collage kids and rude elderly, loved working in a craft store. It has a certain chaotic calmness that she just... V _ibed_ with in a way. Especially on the night shift, having the pleasure of being employed for one of the only all-night centers in the area. 

Not a lot could surprise her, having been here several years now. And it wasn't even dark yet, barely 6:30. Nothing too odd happened while the sun was still up, even if it was drooping. 

It took her by honest shock then, when a bride walked in. Not just a chick in a veil and sash-- the store had seen plenty of bachelorette party scavenger hunts before-- the whole thing. Dress, veil, train--

"Hold it, honey you're stuck."

And there was the groom, equally done up in a dapper blue and rescuing said train from the automatic doors. 

"God damn it--"

"This is why I wanted to stop before we hit the highway."

"I know, I know."

The two were in front of her then, expectant. 

Years of customer service took over Nina's vocal cords then, even if her brain wasn't on board. 

"Hi welcome to Davids Crafts and Quilts, is there anything I can help you with?" she asked, as though this wasn't going in the books as one of the oddest encounters of her career. 

"We're looking for crafting scissors, can you help?"

The bride was one of the tallest women she'd ever seen. She had heels on, she had to have, but that still didn't quite add up. Nina was looking straight up. The bride quirked a single brow down at her. 

"Crafting scissors?" the groom tried again, arm snaking around his partner's waist. Nina cleared her throat, then looked to him-- only now realizing that he was robotic. It shouldn't have taken her as aback as it did, the neighbor at the end of her street was as well, but she just blinked, wide-eyed.

"Aisle 7," Customer-Service-Nina said, once again saving her. "Should be on the right."

The two drifted off, though she did catch scraps of their conversation.

"-- but, and I'm so sorry for this, this wasn't the aisle I thought you'd be headed down today."

The bride absolutely lost it at that, laughing clearly heard even as they rounded the corner to go deeper into the store. 

It almost was joke worthy, an android, and an amazon walk into a knock-off Michals. That could be a joke. A few other customers filtered in, perfectly ordinary, casting doubt on the whole situation. It _had_ been a long weekend, maybe she wasn't up to working this shift. 

But then, not five minutes later, there they were again in front of her counter. The groom lightly placed a pair of pink fabric scissors in front of her. Nina blinked, still incredulous. 

"How much?" the bride asked, voice somehow stern even with the groom running his fingers over her side, making her squirm and grin. 

"It's. I--" Nina sputtered for a few moments, before swallowing. "On the house. Congratulations?"

The bride narrowed her eyes, but the groom beat her to the pitch.

"Oh, thank you so much! That's very sweet." He recollected the scissors, working them out of their packaging. "Shall we?"

"Mm." said his bride, and they shuffled over to the wall as a unit. 

"Alright so, how does this thing attach?"

"Jack it's not just pinned on--"

"I know, that's why we've got these bad boys." he opened and closed the scissors, which for their part did look decently sharp. "Just show me where."

"I know _something_ is tied around my waist, that could be it."

"Isn't that the petticoat?"

"I love the use of vocabulary, but I'm not wearing one Hero. I'm pretty sure it's the train."

"Alright, so you can--"

"Nope."

"Sorry?"

The bride leaned back on the wall, throwing up her hands behind her. Nina was red-faced as she checked out an elderly man and his basket of embroidery squares, eyes unable to stop flicking to the two.

" _You_ can." the bride said, playful and light.

"L-Lilith I think--"

One hand came off of the wall, gently but quickly pushing her partner down. There were several noises of complaint, but there were also enough giggles to make Nina's current customer glance over. He returned his attention to Nina when the groom went under the bride's gown, quickly handing Nina his card. She tried to work quickly for his sake. 

The groom resurfaced from the lace right as the elderly gentleman was passing them to leave, and immediately the robot went pink, sputtering out an awkward hello. The bride was trembling, hand slapped over her mouth in an attempt not to bust out laughing. The old man practically ran out, and then they were both in near-hysterics. 

Almost worse than the high college kids. 

"Good to go?" She managed after a while of laughing, helping her groom up. 

"Shake a little and see."

Obedient, the bride did a quick little shimmy, then grinned brightly as she sidestepped. The train did not follow.

"Masterfully done."

Wrapped up in one another, they left as a pair. The pink fabric scissors and the train of the gown laid on the floor. Nina wondered if she should tell anyone. 

****************

Don had seen plenty of newlyweds in his gas station. 

He wasn't entirely sure why, but around this season specifically, he got plenty. He suspected it was the nearby beach, though the thing was privately owned. 

At a point, they all looked the same. The grooms all had a sort of love-melted gaze as they looked at their dazzling brides, who almost always took a few laps of the place in their gowns. This one, in particular, was indecisive, making her fourth turn of the place. 

"Can I help you with something, sweetheart?" he called to her. The pretty thing held his gaze for only a few seconds before looking to her groom, who was leaned up on the counter with Don. That's another thing, they loved eye contact. He'd learned it wasn't particularly a matter of manners, and as such didn't mind.

" _Someone_ got tipsy without me on the drive here if you can believe it-- I'm trying to catch up." 

The groom grinned at him, eye bright and happy. Her tone wasn't one of someone who was upset. 

" _You_ gave me the chip Lilith, and it's not like I'm the one driving."

"Low blow for a Hero! I will _not_ be the designated driver tonight." she flicked her eyes to Don then, letting him know where her attention was, even if her gaze immediately went back to her boy. "I'm trying to find something special-- just not a wine girl."

Don leaned over the counter, gesturing behind her. 

"Don't go for wine in that dress darlin, there's a champaign on the top there that'll do you just fine."

She lights up, smiling at him. He loved having brides in his store, radiant things that they are. The little bot beside him sighs happily, clearly thinking along similar lines. 

His arms wrap around her when she comes to the counter with a bottle in hand, gentle sway to him Don now knows to be alcohol. Or a virus. Whatever could get a robot drunk. The bride just laughs, pressing a kiss to his temple and swaying with him as she sets the champaign on the counter. 

"Just promise you'll wait to open it till you get where you're going, then it's on the house. For the newlyweds." He says, smiling at the pair.

The bride looks up, an odd look in her eyes.

"We're not married." she says firmly. The groom in her arms whines, rolling his head to look at Don.

" _Technically--_ " he starts, but then his bride is all over him, kissing and loving and pressing him to the counter.

" _Not yet,"_ she mutters quietly, sweetly into his curves. " _Not yet._ "

The whole thing catches Don off guard. That's new. 

The bride collects the bottle, then herds her groom back out to the bike they rode in on, flashing Don one last smile with all her teeth.

The bell jingles as the door closes into the night, and Don is alone. He wonders if he should tell someone, though he doesn't know what he'd say. 

****************

"I still want to say my vows!" Jack says, excited and goofy. 

"We're still having a wedding Hero, save them."

" _Lilith White_ you better not recycle your vows!" he says, far too bouncy for the atmosphere. Lilith didn't often see him drunk and quickly headed there herself, she didn't mind much. "I'll know."

"You will not."

"I absolutely will."

"And why is that, huh hotshot?" she asked, taking another swig. Champaign had been a good call. 

"Because you're going to tell me yours now. We'll both make new ones."

"Absolutely not."

"Please?" he asked, leaning on her shoulder. She liked him there. He liked being there. "Romance me, Dr."

"You won't remember anyway."

"Not the _words._ "

The sound of the waves felt good. The stars felt good. The sand beneath them felt good, and the air was just as. He felt perfect pressed to her side, and she kept breathing big and slow, like how he liked. She wanted to feel perfect for him too. 

"Then you don't need the words." She said after a long while.

"But--"

She shushed him, muttering for him to listen. In the silence, the poetry of her vows pushed the waves and splattered the sky with stars, made the air around them good to great, to just right. She pressed into him, laying fully back. He laid back with her. 

"Now how am I supposed to top that?" he asked, cheeky but sincere. 

"I think I'm drunk."

"...I'd hope so, that bottles--"

"I get prose-y when I get drunk."

"I like it" he said simply, and with that statement out came his vows. She felt her heart skip. 

Away from prying eyes and surrounded by bliss, neither of them were fully oblivious. There would be plenty of questions when their time was up. They'd answer to the best of their ability, naturally, their loved ones deserved that much, but this moment was just for them. And they would _not_ be telling anyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tender Hours.


	13. i’m deleting this in 20 minutes so help me god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bro.

you’re really doing this? really? huh? this what you like? jesus god do it fast just go you’re warmed up go go go 

**Filligree** :

A nightclub, nasty and gritty and neon, dripping neon from every crack. someone is dancing, everyone is dancing but this is a Someone and they are dancing wild and free and sad, mascara and eyeliner and glitter fucked and wailed down their face in massive streaks. it’s unclear if they’re gorgeous or terrifying or if you should lay a hand on their shoulder because it’s okay and they might not know it, they’re okay.

he sings with oomph, he has a young mans vocals and he shreds them every time he sings with passion. you cant sink into his song, it’s a force that happens to you no matter how softly he sings. 

it’s hard to focus, you want to give attention to the high notes, want to lean closer when he swings low and soft, seemingly at random, and he wants that too, he desperately wants all the attention anyone will afford him. 

the harp, when it sings with him, always enters later in the song. it’s always sweet but no less forceful, his partner in passion. to his oomph it sings comfort, like the tight, loaded hug of someone very important. it’s not a relief. he’ll let you go when he’s done and not a moment sooner. 

his ending pose is center stage, always center stage. one arm straight up, a fist, the other tucking his partner safely behind his back, one leg knocked to the side and eyes up to follow the curve of his wrist. three seconds, then a bow, and he is boneless and stated for the rest of the night, speaking less. 

he is wild and at his cruelest when he does not sing. 

**Octavia** :

  
condensation on a pane of glass. it’s raining, and the sounds are perfectly clear through the closed window— but different still. you’re not sure how, but if you were outside, you’re sure it would sound different. as it were though, it sounds lovely enough. cool, comfortable; though you’re perfectly awake, here, by the window, you feel foggy too. it’s safe. 

she sings like a dove, like a river. her range is nothing to scoff at, though she never pushes herself, not onstage, she _knows_ better that. 

fluttering high notes, the sweetest trills, perfectly placed gasps of breath to tell the story (or draw the eye. whatever she needs.) this is control, this is years of work and effort and failure, this is an art and science fused into one. sugary and warm and safe, she sings of love and romance and passion and —

the violin enters, truly enters, when the glass on the window cracks. it’s easy to ignore the river, until you blink when the strings go wild and realize you were somehow drowning in the song, time and breath irreverent. she does not sing while the violin has its turn, but she often dances, unable to help it. it sounds like her, even to strangers. especially to strangers, maybe. 

her ending pose is tall, heels together and arms stretched above her, spread wide. the violin stays in her hands as she does this, body in one, bow in another. she is a great, lovely bird for three seconds. she bows, and when she settles offstage she is more put together, panting but clear headed and sharp, present. 

she is moody and spacey when she does not sing. 

  
**Francine** :

an old leather booth, perfectly shaped to the curve of your spine. it wasn’t made for you, whole place predating you, but it’s been long understood as exclusively yours. it feels damn nice.

she sings like an old wine, rich and sweet, and it always goes down easy, gentle, no matter your taste. it’s hard to tell when you’re drunk on it. 

she doesn’t play an instrument herself, but pairs well with most everything. on long days it feels like your tie being loosened, a waiting ear, a firm, gentle hand pressing to your back or shoulders to get rid of knots. comfortable and sexy and easy. 

her end pose is reserved, hands low by her sides and fingers flared out, a complete flip from her show language. the mic, her dress, the hair the lipstick the whole stage were just things to _work_ and god she _worked_ them—and now her head turns from the audience as she accepts applause, almost shy now that her song is sung. she does not make a habit of bowing. 

she tries hard not to depend on this, and there is no large, noticeable downturn when she does not sing. 

(for careful viewers she resigned, less sure of herself. she apologizes more.) 

Ace fucking sings like honey that’s caramelizing. it’s sticky and warm and you just get fucking Stuck in it and that’s fine, why in gods name would you want to be anywhere else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was serious in the title i’m deleting this soon i’m So mad i had to make this a chapter for you to read it.


	14. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camping. Limited connection and cold fingers, I typed this out on my phone like a madwoman, please don’t be harsh. It’s quiet out here, I have to do something to occupy my time.

You look at your features, and for the first time, see them. Really see them. 

You’re a pretty girl. 

You’re a pretty woman now, actually. 

The shape of your eyes, the curve of your neck, the delicate, natural smile that forms on your lips when you force your jaw to unclench. Very pretty. 

It was a mistake. An honest mistake, something your father very rarely makes. 

Your bottom lip begins to tremble. 

The fault is yours, really. Crawling into bed with him, honestly— you’re not a child anymore. You’re a 19 year old woman—

( With pretty green eyes and blonde hair; just his type. ) 

It’s stupid that you can’t get your breathing under control. It’s stupid that your heart still feels likely to pound out of your chest. You’re stupid for crying over such a harmless, silly, _little_ mistake. 

He didn’t do anything wrong. 

You’re being stupid. 

He didn’t do anything wrong, still mostly asleep, you’re stupid for this. 

An arm just a tad too snug over your waist, his face pressed to your hair. 

Her name. 

That’s nothing, stupid. 

You vomit. 

It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything. 

It’s not your fault either, you decide. 

Aaron Eden scared you, and you went home for the weekend to... You’re allowed to come home just to talk to him. He’s your dad. You’re allowed to just want to talk, to run through the basic, petty, easy conversations. 

No Daddy, you do like the work you’re doing. Even if they don’t know what to do with you yet.

No Daddy, stop asking. You like the field you’re in. 

Yes Daddy, of course all your coworkers are nice to you. Stop worrying. 

As if he’d ever worried for you in his life. It was jabbing pleasantries, trying to coax you back to White Sales. He’d have to try a lot hard than ‘Are your peers nice to you’, of course they were all nice. 

You have the capacity for pleasantries with your coworkers and your boss— your boss. He likes you a lot. He smiles at you often and doesn’t treat you like a trophy like some of the executives and kissed you late at night in his office when you two were alone in the building because he knew you were new and young and _his_ employee and wouldn’t tell anyone because you don’t make friends of your peers and he’s your _boss_ and—

You heave again, though nothing comes out. 

You had just wanted to see your dad. 

It’s not his fault. 

It’s certainly not your fault. 

And you don’t even really think it’s Edens fault. 

You stand back up from where you’d fallen to gag, looking back in the mirror. 

Your pretty green eyes and full blonde hair. The curve of your eyebrows, the plush of your lips. You grew up with this face, you know it perfectly. 

But you finally _recognize_ it. 

You’ve seen it done countless times in movies, and unsurprisingly, they got the action wrong. When you lash out at the mirror, it doesn’t shatter and fall into pieces on the counter; it cracks, mean and splintering, but doesn’t fall. You find that appropriate. 

You don’t remember your mother enough to form the shape of her in your mind. Not her laugh not her smile not the way she smelled as she held you. If she held you. 

Your father has casted doubt on her affection, as he’s done with almost her existence as a whole. No photos survive, and the home movies were confiscated long ago. You’ve never seen one of her possessions. You don’t know why, but you love your dad. If it’s for the best, then so be it. 

What he can’t be rid of though, is your eyes. Of your pretty blonde hair. Of the face that’s just as much _hers_ as it is yours, and this is the fucking consequence. 

This is her fault, and you’ll find a way to do what your father couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lilith White returns to Starlight Engineering and Advancement Monday morning like snake with venomous markings. It’ll be a long while yet until she is actually dangerous— but no one needs to know that


	15. (Relative) Quiet Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship matters, bro. It matters a lot.

The afternoon is alive and humming and perfectly, blessedly, silent. Marshall sits statuesque, drinking in the last few hours of daylight. The olive tree is warm on his back and sends reassurances often, keeping his breathing slow and easy. 

In, two, three. 

_It's okay, you're okay, I'm here._

Out, three, four. 

In, two, three. 

_Scritch, scritch, crumble._

Either an intruder was scaling the wall, or--

"Hell- _o!_ Hello, hello!"

Out, three, four. 

For reasons unknown, Filligree had still yet to enter the garden via the gate, much preferring to struggle over the wall. Almost three decades now, and still no explanation was given. It'd just be another endearing quirk, if not for the damage it was doing the poor thing. Have to repave in a few more years, no doubt. 

In, two, three. 

" _Hello-_ Oh. Hey Marshall."

Out, two, three. 

"I bet I can guess what you're thinking. Why, oh _why_ do I _always_ come home during quiet time? Couldn't tell you."

A soft thud of the dirt as they touched down, somewhere near the strawberries. 

"Just luck I suppose."

Rustling followed their path inside, with a snagging sound near the end that usually indicated their pepper plant would be one lighter next Marshall checked. The sound of the door, then silence again. 

_I'm still here._

The rustle of leaves, a bird fiddling with its nest, a buzzing... Something, near his head. 

Not quite silence. 

In, two, three.

Out, two, three. 

The door again. 

"Where's Ike?"

The fort, probably. He was a fully grown (very grown) man, he could do as he pleased. Today at least, all Marshall was concerned with was breathing. 

Shit, right. 

In, two, three. 

Slow steps meandered over to stand in front of him, pausing again for another pepper. The plant had almost two months to recover in the bards' absence, now, it was guaranteed to be bare again by weeks end. Should have potted another one while he had the chance.

"Probably at the fort... Well."

A quiet plunk on the dirt next to him, then a gentle weight pressed itself to Marshall's side. 

"Guess it's you and me then."

In, two, three.

Out, three, four. 

Filligree was a silent companion for as long as they'd ever managed, a record 20 minutes, before pressing further into Marshall and whining. 

"Come on now, didn't you miss me at all? I haven't been gone this long since I was 72!"

They were keeping track then. Interesting. 

"It's not because I was cross with either of you. I know Ike and I had that spat a few days before I left, but it wasn't that, honest. I didn't actually care, just a principled stand, you understand."

Filligree pressed their face even closer, then huffed, tucking their head under Marshall's arm instead. 

"But if you really don't care, I just might be staying out longer more often. It's just rude, and I hope you know I'll be remembering this. Elven memory, you'll never be rid of this slight."

But Elven attention, at least this ones, was remarkably short. He'd be fine. 

"Duchess tried throwing me on the way back, we were going too fast for too long and I suppose she was done with it. She didn't, she could never, but the effort did convince me to pull us over for the day. So that's why we're back _now,_ and if you're going to be upset at someone for interrupting quiet time, now you know where to look. Just saying.

"She'll probably be sleeping for the next week though, did ride her a little hard... So you might have to wait. Oh! She opened the stable door today all by herself, I'm very proud. You don't believe me--"

He didn't.

"But I don't need you to. I know my horse is the smartest here. It doesn't matter if Phlox is better behaved, my lady doesn't need to be to outperform. She knows it, and so do I."

A soft sigh, tickling his side.

"I do feel a _little_ bad for riding her so hard, she had a rough trip this time. We went farther than we normally do, and--"

They wormed their way across Marshall's lap, head resting on his thigh and legs sprawled in the dirt beside the both of them. 

"There, right. So... Right! And guess what happened the second week we were gone? Not one, not two, but _three_ of her shoes failed. It was crazy, and you know how fussy she is so I pulled right over but the only smith in town-- and before I continue you know how fond I am of smiths and their--"

They broke off into laughter, somewhere between a delighted giggle and an embarrassed chuckle. 

"Handywork"

There was no recovering this time, and Filligree burst out laughing, gripping on Marshall's arm. The ham. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry--"

Are not. 

"Sorry-- Where was I? Right! The _only_ smith in town is this super creepy old guy, and everyone in town tells me yes, he does excellent work, but um. He's weird. And the man sure delivers on that! The whole workshop was weird even, and as soon as I could with my lady's horseshoes, I scrammed. They're really nice, but still. I won't be returning, and do not recommend the experience."

In, two, three.

Out, three, four.

It felt like Filligree was following him to catch their breath.

In, two, three. 

Out, three four. 

What could only be a leaf floated down and landed delicately in the dirt next to the pair. The elf swatted at it lazily, but let it be when it fluttered too far out of reach. 

"For a dozen my hips, for a million my lips- on yours - passing to and fro, fro... _Fro,_ fro- do re mi fa there! Fa, _fro_ passing to and _fro_ something too sweet to exist but in the trembling air betwixt us. 

"Between... Betwixt. Brum ra ta ta brum ta ra ta la-- betwixt then... Brum rata... nnnn..."

Thet started tapping on Marshall's chest, quick ut contemplative, presumably, to work out the kinks in the melody. It felt nice at least. 

"It's _mi_ , fa mi la, fa mi la ti do-- no. Mi, fa me ti la do ti... Do ti... That's stupid. I worked on this I promise it just doesn't want to come out right, mi fa mi la- uhg!

"This isn't the one I was working on before I left-- God help me I'm not _t_ _hat_ useless-- mi, fa mi la ti do rising to fa te la ti, tremb- _ling_ la _ti_ there is, I've got it-- _la ti --_ Fuck! Marshall!"

Two hards lightly grip either side of his head, urgent but light. They'd had a very serious talk about rattling him too thoroughly when excited, it was nice to know Filligree was still taking it seriously. Even if they'd stopped singing. 

"Some _bitch_ stole my reservation! It was a total fucking mess, hated the whole affair. I booked it three whole days prior, and I normally wouldn't bother but I wanted the Friday spot and not everyone can be counted on the be wise to my work-- especially with how far out I was -- and the owner agreed! Pavillion was _mine_ Friday, from 4 to sunrise. A decent chunk of time for an even more decent coin, but what was I gonna do? Play for the _morning crowd_? _Me_? Marshall, please!" 

The hands holding him are tossed off, the elf in his lap following the position. This is... That doesn't feel good, Filligree better adjust before Marshall has to move. 

And adjust they do, thought the process is an equally uncomfortable one. 

Filligree ends up with their head resting in the grass, legs hooked over either of Marshall's shoulders, lounging almost entirely upside down. At least... At least they're settled. 

In, two, three.

"Anyway... I roll up, and I'm talking to the curator and explaining my setlist and they just let me prattle on and on and on and at the very end tell me, sorry, another bards outbid you. As if this were an auction! As if that was any way to run a business! And they told me to work it out with the other musician because I would _not_ be getting my deposit back. 

"I wish people were afraid of elves like they were afraid of the drow, I was furious and genuinely thinking of ripping this _dolt_ to shreds and they just didn't seem to care at all... 

"So I storm up to the other performer-- a _cellist_ of all things-- and start ripping them a new one, it's bad form to swipe a pre-booked show after all, and he tells me it's not really his problem! This cocky little six! This _cellist!_ I start thoroughly _making_ it his problem, of all strings cellos are easy instruments to aggravate before a show so we-- we-- I--"

Filligree sneezes, an uncomfortable affair while still upside down. 

"Ugh... And... Right! We compromise. I still got primetime, naturally, but did lose several hours to this punk, so I wasn't in the best of spirits. Turns out they were a bonfire 8 though, which you know I can and _did_ do. Didn't help my mood, rougher ride than Duchess in a hailstorm and a really... I dunno. Like, Marshall. You _know_ just how flexible I am--"

To accent this, maybe to prove it, the legs hooked over Marshall's shoulders slipped down around his arms. Impressive enough. He himself couldn't do the splits at least, but Filligree was definitely stuck. Just a matter of when they would notice.

"But _fuck._ Sure didn't feel like it..."

In, two, three.

"Hey..."

Out, three, four. 

"Hey, Marshall."

They wiggled slightly, seeing what exactly they could and could not manage. 

In, two, three.

"Shit. Marshall I think I'm stuck."

Mhm.

Out, three, four. 

"Marshall, I'm stuck."

In, two, three. 

"Marshall!"

Out, three, four.

"C'mon! Marshall, help."

In, two three. 

"I'm serious, come on! Marshall, I'm stuck, help!"

Out, three, four. 

In--

" **_I K E !_ **"

It took some will power, but Marshall didn't cave. Where ever Ike may be, there was a high possibility he was just knocked over. It depends on how much juice Filligree gave that particular power word. 

Eventually, after much complaining, squirming, and cursing, they did manage to free themselves via back roll. 

"Some help you are..." 

They crawled back into his lap despite the venom in their voice, settling much more comfortably this round, back to Marshall's chest and legs crossed neatly inside. It felt nice, bard now keeping him warm as the sun lazily dipped below the horizon. 

In, two, three.

He knew exactly the scene in front of him. The fluff of Filligrees hair and the height it sat with their head resting on his chest. The shadows the garden cast now that the summer sun had finally retired, faint but cool. The lavender of the sky-- he could feel that one in the air. 

Out, three, four. 

Greil had better be on his way home by now. 

In, two, three. 

Somewhere far off, a hound bayed. 

Out, three, four. 

In, two, three.

"Kiss me, miss me, by the end I'll bet you'll wish, me dead, happily and forever wed-- darling darling the you, and I, of you, and I, was eloquently easily positively made to die. Oops."

Out, three, four.

They seemed content with just the verse, though he could feel them chewing on it slightly when done. A few minutes of silence, and they shivered. 

"My brain feels like it was removed then shoved back in really quick. I guess that's what traveling does though, which is stupid... I left to try and think about... stuff. And I thought traveling would help. 'S stupid.

"It wasn't a bad trip, but it was kind of hard. Mostly riding... I'm glad to be back is what I'm saying. Hard day. How was yours?"

In, two, three. 

Marshall wrapped an arm around his companion's waist, hugging them close. The elf sighed happily, boneless against him. 

"My day was good."

He smiled down at them just as they tilted their head back to smile at him in turn, honest and easy comfort between them. 

Out, three, four. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warm fuzzies... Warm fuzzies? Care for some warm fuzzies?


	16. Prompt slam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's easy to get lost in the moment, with company like this.

It still felt weird driving home. 

Driving was relaxing, aligning, and just mindless enough at times to be considered a type of meditation. Blood pressure and all. 

It wasn't nearly as funny when they'd both had the absolute shit beaten out of them before the drive, and the drive itself was more... just plain uncomfortable. 

They were fine, no emergency e-vacs needed. 

It was a good thing, but unfortunate. It was a long way home this time. 

Light after light after exit after shitty late-night driver after one wrong turn in an hour and a half after positively venomous glare after 20 minutes and counting of the silent treatment, and the three agents (one blessedly asleep in the backseat) still had another hour till they were safe at home. It seemed so much shorter on the way there, though they admittedly used the excuse of emergency to justify the fly. No such emergency existed for the way back. 

Switch to the middle lane. No, no Ace was being optimistic, that wasn't the exit they needed. Back to the left lane it was then. 

Twenty minutes pass. 

Lilith makes a noise, something between a growl and a groan when he reaches for the radio. Right. None of that then. She looks back out the window, and his grip tightens on the wheel. 

The next exit was his, and Ace dutifully attempted to maneuver to the right-hand lane. The steering wheel didn't budge. He tried a little harder, and Avery tried a little harder to ignore him. Not even the blinker gave.

He slumped in his chair for exactly 30 seconds, grip going slack and sighing. Once those few seconds were done, he sprung, once again trying to get them to the exit. 

They drive past it without so much as a swerve, and he huffs. 

Lilith watches from the corner of her eye, some kind of amused buried beneath the exhaustion. When Ace notices he pointedly does _not_ look her way, focusing on driving. It... It might've been the wrong exit. Lilith wasn't the only tired one. 

She'd... She'd earned the passenger seat this round though. Metaphorically at least, Avery had made it very clear Ace wasn't doing jack-shit in the driver seat anyway. 

She looked... Rough. Ace no doubt did to match, but he didn't exactly bruise. Or bleed. Or get slammed into a building (twice, thrice?) so his shirt stuck to him in wet, sickly patches, sure to require invested _peeling_ off when they finally arrived home or have those kinds of bags under his eyes or stress lines cutting up his face or a fresh net of cuts to add to the growing map of scars all over her--

"You're staring."

He looked back to the road. 

The bots had done their job and done it well, but they were limited in just how much they could repair flesh and blood. Arrow had earned laying down in the backseat just as well as she'd earned the passenger seat, there was no pretending where their focus was when they'd all piled in. 

"Are you... Are you okay Lilith?"

"Are you okay, Ace?"

"There's a right answer to that." He said carefully, spotting the easy deflection. "Best mechanic there is looking out for me, how could I be anything but fine? But I asked about you, Lilith."

She huffed a laugh, still hiding from him. 

"You're right, that is the right answer."

Silence.

"Lilith."

Silence. He wouldn't press again, and she knew it. What she did with that was--

"I'll make it home Ace. I'll fix Arrow up, and you, _right_ , then neither of you better bother me for the next week. Attempt at your own risk."

\-- A relief, for once. That was... That was new.

"...Good. For a second back there I thought--"

" _I know what you thought._ "

"...Right." Ace knew it still was her, at least. 

The road was empty, and he wasn't driving anyway. His eye wandered. 

"...Smoke?" he asked. She looked to him, jaw working. Eventually, she nodded. 

He pulled out his pack, offering her one of three left. With effort, she reached out and accepted. There was no sound as she leaned back into her chair, putting it to her mouth, but there should have been. He knew her well enough for that. He came to her with the lighter then, and he took thanks in the flick of her eyes to meet his, in the softening of her shoulders. 

He was paying too close attention to this, instead of watching the road. He refocused. 

The passenger window rolled down slightly. She sighed out her exhale. The smell of smoke. 

The road was empty, and he wasn't driving anyway. His eye wandered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I feel tender now.


	17. Cruise Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent this was a treat to nibble on bro. Bro you've gotta feed me things to keep me enriched and you sure as hell delivered.

Driving scenes were uneventful for filming. 

The car had been rigged six ways to Sunday years ago and rarely needed upkeep, making it an easy day when Ace needed to cool down and chose to simply _drive_ for a while.

Didn't do shit in the way of clearing his head, but it was _something._

King wasn't _technically_ allowed in the operation rooms while was filming taking place, but thanks to some... carefully calculated good behavior on his part, no one was particularly bothered when he wandered in. 

""s this?" he asked quietly, not looking to the screen quite yet. Veronica, a sound tech, glanced at him and smiled. 

"Spades is taking some alone time, and since he peeled out before we could get a cue in place at the apartment, it looking like today's gonna be a bust," she said, helpful as ever. 

Hotch, operations manager, and resident bitch glanced over to the pair with some kind of irritation clear on his face. Truly a crime for the ages, disrupting the bored silence of watching an actor grumble and switch lanes. King made a point to plop down next to Veronica, slinging an arm over her shoulder with a grin. Never hurt to play into it now and again, thanks to a fallout last summer he knew Hotch was decently intimidated by the character. They wouldn't be bothered.

"Get's you some in-between shots though, not _useless."_ He said, a little less quietly to prove a point. "Ace can be counted on for a good show."

He didn't look at the screen. Frustration, anger, Ace's unique brand of helpless bled through clear as day anyway. He couldn't look yet. 

"Well yeah," she said, crossing her arms and leaning to him. The refreshing thing never had the decency to be nervous around the _character,_ much less King himself. "But he's been at this for hours, cameras have gotta be tired of watching."

"We are!" called a camera tech from across the room, half a groan. 

"You can run get me coffee anytime, Tony" Veronica called back, smiling more brightly now. Hotch's eyebrow twitched when a great majority of the room chuckled. 

Veronica looked back to him as he was studying her desk. She'd taken away the photo of her and her girlfriend. The sound of Ace cutting a fast turn, the shift of the leather on the wheel as his grip went too tight on the wheel. King hoped it was just to make things tidier, not a breakup. They'd seemed nice together. 

"I thought you were in for your checkup today?"

"It's always fun explaining that unlike Spades--" he gestured to the screen, and had to fight the urge to linger. A flash of silver, the light of his eye. He looked back down to Veronica, grinning. "I know how to run basic maintenance on myself. Fun, but it doesn't take all that long, so. Here I am."

Veronica nodded, leaning away to fiddle with her soundboard. He was muttering. King didn't strain to listen, and didn't look. 

The strain of the engine made it difficult to hear much of anything, apparently to the great frustration of Veronica and the other sound techs. 

"Make sure we have a shot of the speedometer," Hotch called "And get me a read on how fast he's going, he's going to need gas eventually."

"Camera K is on fine, reads 97 mph and... looks like he's going around 73."

"If he hits dead 85 have something blow, god help me I don't want him hitting 90 ever again."

A few of the project seniors groaned in agreement as they set up the necessary failsafe. 

"At least he's out of the city, Miranda said last time he did this she got like half a dozen complaint calls in midtown alone, not to mention--"

"Just jumped to 80."

He could have looked. He had been on his best behavior for months now around the set, no one would care if he looked. More than half of them were currently debating how to slow down their little speed demon before he actually put a strain on the car, they wouldn't even notice if he did. But he didn't and wasn't sure why. God knows he didn't actually like the operating room. 

"Resting at 80, Veronica baby I _need_ some usable lines to justify how much pull he's giving the car, tell me you have something."

"I'm trying -- quit bugging me about it! I don't even think he's saying real words here..."

So close to Veronica's desk, King could hear just how hard his... How hard Ace was breathing. 

"Be a shame if Spades got pulled over, doesn't really look the type to do well in prison," he said, pointedly not looking. He didn't know why the fuck he was here. He couldn't do him the dignity of just, _looking_ , of just seeing the wreck they'd made him the past few months. He was a special kind of useless, and stood to leave with a disinterested hum, stretching casually. "Tough as fucking tin when it comes down to it, that one."

Veronica made a quiet noise that would pass as a laugh, and he turned to go. 

" _What kind of fucking line what that King!_ " 

Black King froze in the doorway.

"I can't-- I can't _fucking_ believe you, melodramatic, cheesy son of a _bitch._ "

_Been thinking a long time about this Spades-- and I'm sorry, I really am, but any other way you'd miss me too much. This is a favor._

King turned to look at the screen, to look at Ace, and found him staring right back, furious and frantic. Camera C, for the center console. 

"Like you fucking _gave_ a _shit_ , like it was ever about me like--" He slammed a hand down on the steering wheel, twice, thrice, a fourth time. "Like I _could_ miss you even if I wanted to-- _bastard."_

"We're getting this?"

"Just jacked up to 90, Amy cool him down--"

"My best mics under the seat I need you to wake up the one in the door _now_ come on--"

"95 and gaining, where the fuck is that failsafe--"

He looked rough. 

"You're gone. I fucking know that I _know_ that King, I know you are and I'm-- I'm here."

He looked so god damn rough and tired and pissed to hell and back and it wasn't charming or cinematic or easy to fucking look at but King wasn't going anywhere now that he was looking. 

"Triple digits; if I make him blow now he's almost guaranteed to have a spinout, maybe even flip and I will _not_ be the one explaining to the cleanup crew why they're scraping him up off the asphalt Hotch--"

He let go of the wheel like he was scared. It didn't fit his face, it didn't fit the scene, it didn't fit _Ace Spades_ and what that meant at this point. 

Just. Let go, shaking hands hovering near it, ready to clamp back on at a seconds notice. 

" _What the fuck is he doing--"_

"God fucking dammit takedowns a good hour away--"

King stared at Ace, to tense to breathe. Ace sighed, shaky, and pained.

"I think." The car drifted into the opposing lane. Ace pulled his hands back farther, eye still locked onto the road ahead. "I think I do. I t-think I _want_ to miss you." 

King's hand clenched by his side, the noise of the operation room whiting out. He closed his eye. The screech of tires, the sound of them chewing through dirt and grit, a hard, booming crack of metal. His hand shook. 

"I'll have to make it hurt when I _find_ you for that." 

Black King opened his eye and saw Ace-fucking-Spades, tired and rough and pissed to hell and back and as cinematic as he'd ever been. Dramatic son of a bitch threw the car into gear and started speeding back to the city, hands clamped tight on the steering wheel, as they should be. 

Both their hands still shook, but it didn't matter much. 

Ace Spades was back on the case that didn't exist, and Black King had almost a year of trust to ruin with the producers.

They'd be seeing one another soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha gay


	18. Always Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh... I don't really know how to explain this one.

"Don't shove!"

"Don't fall so easy, Nym!"

"You're just too clumsy, Nym; she didn't shove!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"I didn't see her shove you."

"You _wouldn't."_

"You're so _fussy,_ little brother!"

"I think so too, such a tantrum over a little bump..."

"So you _admit_ that you-- Hey! I'm older than _both_ of you!"

"Is that so?"

"Certainly not what I remember, Ester?"

"You know that _doesn't_ seem right, Polly. I think we're older."

"Seconded."

"You can't just second something that's not true Ester, that's not how it works!"

"Well, _I_ think that _is_ how it works."

"Seconded." 

" _Octavia!"_

Both twins groaned when Nym tapped out, the fun rapidly coming to a close. 

"You don't _need_ to do that, Nym--"

"Don't be such a _baby_ , Nym--"

"Did you shove me."

"..."

"..."

" _Octavia!"_

The scene was able to escalate to a full-blown wrestling match; two to one, by the time an enforcer of the house was able to locate them, to Nyms misery. The girls _always_ went straight to pulling his hair, and today was no exception. 

"Just _what_ is going on here?" Raymond said, hands on his hips and foot tapping. The three youngest all froze. That was _not_ the sibling any of them were expecting-- or honestly preferred. "You all have three seconds before I go get Dad."

"You don't even know what's going on!" Polly exclaimed, carefully trying to release her older brother's hair in a way that didn't reveal she was gripping a large chunk of it in the first place. 

"I don't care," Raymond said, crossing his arms and tipping his chin higher. "You're being loud and Octavia said not to bother her today anyway." 

Ester looked to Polly. Polly squinted, and Ester nodded. "Dad's working on a _big_ order right now, you wouldn't bother him if the moon fell out of the sky. That's why sissy didn't come, she's helping him."

Raymond fluffed right up, crossing his arms tighter.

"Octavia doesn't help him with work, _I do!”_

"Then why a _ren't_ you?"

"That's a good question, Polly, why _isn't_ he?" Ester asked, looking to her sister.

"I dunno Ester," Polly said, one hand lightly on her cheek. "How odd! Our Rayray, butting into _our_ business when he _should_ be helping our poor father. Maybe he was slacking and just wanted to use _us_ as an easy excuse."

Nym wheezed, still trying to squirm free of the twins. "One of your knees are crushing my windpipe--" 

" _Nym, hush."_ all three siblings present snapped, making the young man in question whine. 

"I do not _slack;_ you know that! I _love_ helping in the workshop--" Raymond started, flushing dark when all three of his younger siblings simultaneously muttered 'Nerd..." (for they all truly did know he loved the family business) "I was! I was just, well! It's _none_ of your business! I'm in charge when Dad is busy and Octavia is... Also busy, and _I_ say you're _all_ being nuisances."

"That's not fair!" Nym called, distressed. "They started it!"

"They always start it; that quit being a good excuse decades ago."

"Ha!" both twins laughed before Nym lunged and bit one of their wrists. The wrestling match reignited, the combatants now having to deal with the second eldest of the family hovering over them, trying to pull them apart at opportune times and squawking whenever it rolled over top him. 

"You two are bullies!" Nym cried.

"You're just a baby!" one of the girls shot back, trying to pull back her ear from his pinching grip. 

"No name-calling you three!"

"You're _useless_ Raymond! You're a useless dork and- _ow_! _Octavi-a!"_

"That is _definitely_ included in name-calling and extremely rude!"

"Ow! Rayray you stepped on me!"

Raymond stumbled slightly, trying to apologize only to be immediately tackled by Polly in retaliation. 

Cue five minutes of screaming, wrestling, and several illegal moves on the twins part, to be halted by--

"Aw what, no one invited me?"

Lance. 

"Don't you dare!" Raymond shouted, snatching back his glasses from Nym.

Lance slowly raised his hands, though he couldn't help the smile that crept along his face. 

"Rayray I _just_ got here, there's no need to be fussy."

"Lance, Ester shoved me!"

"He's lying!"

"Lance he's lying!"

"I saw everything, Nym is trying to get her in trouble!"

"You're _all_ in trouble!" Raymond shouted from under his younger siblings. To his surprise (and suspicion), Lance came over and started shooing the three of them off, even as they whined about the fairness of it all. "First for the noise-- then the fighting you _know_ that's not allowed!"

"What's this about shoving?" Lance asked, hand still gripping his older brother's arm. Both boys were hyper-aware of the hold. 

"I'm... I'm not altogether sure, Lance." Raymond said carefully. 

"Now isn't that interesting, Rayray," Lance said, grin stretching. The youngest three were silent watchers on the floor, eyes flicking between the two. "Really ready to tattle without even knowing the problem, huh?"

"Don't. You. _Dare."_

Raymond Devon Regency Ren was never, will never be a particularly strong man. His (very big) little brother has trained for the last 4 decades sunup to sundown, and had him in a headlock in under 10 seconds. Nym, Polly, and Ester took it as their cue to resume their own rumble.

*****************

Octavia slipped through the window, slow, easy, and (hopefully) silent. It closed with the softest of clicks, and she sighed as she firmly locked it. 

"Don't you think the window is _impractical_ for this time of night, little treblemaker?"

Octavia jumped out of her skin, slamming her head into the wall with a yelp. 

"Nonna! You scared me!"

Serren smiled, coaxing her charge further into the room. "Do you know just how late it is, darling? You up on the roof, slinking into windows, if I didn't know better I'd have thought we were being robbed. What happened to your head?"

As if remembering that the wound was there, Octavia slapped a hand over the largest cut on her cheek, making herself immediately wince. 

"W-well, I-- So there was this..." She blinked at Serren, beat up and busted and obvious as she'd ever been. 

"They deserve it too?" 

"He shouldn't talk to the younger kids the way he does. If you ever heard him you'd agree, I know you would! And nobody was doing anything just because the stupid son of a bitch is--"

"Octavia."

"R-right, sorry I'm sorry. Just because he's _huge,_ but I take Lance down all the time so I just thought..."

"Come here, dearest."

Octavia slipped into Serrens waiting arms, and did her best not to squirm as each cut and bruise on her face was gently kissed better. 

"...Thank you, Nonna. You won't tell Dad?" 

"If he knew _everything_ his noble, silly children did he'd have a heart attack on the spot." 

Octavia laughed, just a tad embarrassed.

"Probably so." 

Serren pet over the length of her girl's hair, sighing softly. 

"I would have won."

"Mh?"

"I know what it looks like, but I'm just saying. I would have won."

"Would have implies you still lost, Octavia."

"Well, _technically_ , yes. But if we're going classic rules, I won. He agreed to meet me--"

"You're a very pretty girl, I'm sure he did."

Octavia chose loudly to clear her throat rather than addressing the interruption, carrying right along. "For a match; but the rat brought a friend. Punk-ass cowards wouldn't know pride if it was beaten into them, trust me I tried but _dipshits_ skulls are so much thicker than--"

"Young lady."

"I'm sorry, Nonna." Octavia apologized immediately. Always got caught with the fucking language. "...You're here late."

"I wonder what could have caused me to linger and wait in the 4th-floor guest study, which my charge has chosen to crawl back into the house the past 9 times she's snuck out. Hm. Now, what could it be."

"You're very funny."

"I am."

"You can go now, I'm safe."

"I love you."

Heat immediately hit the young woman's cheeks, as it did every time her caretaker sprung the phrase on her, but it didn't matter much. She was still being held. 

"I love you too." 

She was gently squeezed and didn't feel quite as busted afterward. Nonna was just that good of a hugger.

After a final goodnight, Serren went on her way, leaving Octavia alone.

Time for final rounds. 

Both twins were accounted for and safe in their room when Octavia popped her head in to check, thank god above. 

Nym blearily opened one eye to greet her as she checked on him next, and she muttered a quiet goodnight. His eye closed again and sighed comfortably as his big sister fixed the sheets proper (Raymond gave it an honest effort, but she'd had it down to science long before he even attempted). 

Lance was still awake in his room when she popped the door, something she was less than pleased with. 

"The tests in less than a year, every bit counts." he protested as she closed the tome he was reading. She couldn't recognize the language, but the diagrams were clear enough to prove it was _not_ subtable for this late at night. 

"You have an early morning tomorrow," she said sternly.

"I have an early morning _every_ morning."

"Exactly, you should know better by now." He puffed his cheeks at her, and she puffed hers back. He gave first (he always gave first) and relaxed, laughing. "You can't pull off... Whatever that is if you're tired, you get fussy."

"Don't even get me started on fussy, Raymonds been a pill today."

"Well we know how to handle that, don't we?"

They shared matching, mischievous grins before Octavia got back to herding him into bed, and Lance let her without any more fuss. 

Raymond Devon Regency Ren looked far too much like their father late at night. She found him hunched over a stack of paperwork in the study, furiously scribbling at a roll of parchment. 

"Ray?"

Nothing.

"Rayray."

Fine. She gently pets down his back, laughing when he yelps and spills the inkbottle.

"Do _not_ sneak up on me!" He snaps.

"I didn't sneak for shit, you're zoned in."

"I _was..."_

"Hush. It's much too late for handsome young men like yourself to be... Ew, Ray tell me those aren't--"

"Dad's inventory and order sheet, or it w _as_ before you _snuck up_ on me."

"It's especially too late for those, come on, I'm getting you in bed."

"No."

"Raymond--"

"No, I'm not tired, Octavia. I can finish these up, then I'll probably balance..." He let out a yawn, long and slow. Octavia raised an eyebrow. "I don't want to hear a word."

"You're worse than Lance when you're tired little brother, I won't subject the household to you. Up."

"I am _not_ worse than--" He huffed as he was pulled up, but didn't fight. "Don't pull..."

" _Go._ Daddy's in his workshop?"

He gave her an odd look, something she couldn't quite work out. He shrugged after a moment, headed to the stairwell. 

"I w _ill_ be checking in your room later, better not find you reading!" She called after him.

"I am an a _dult,_ and will be treated as such!" 

She heard his laugh drift in quietly down, and she sighed softly to herself. That was good. 

Octavia grabbed a pillow and one of the throws, then headed to her penultimate stop for the night. The much longer night than she'd ever wanted. C'est la vie. 

The head of the household very rarely was spotted in his own room, and Octavia wasn't sure why she'd bothered asking her younger brother honestly. 

He was face down on his desk when she slipped in, like he'd been the last time she saw him, as she _knew_ he'd be this time too. He easily slept through the gentle rise of his head and the added weight on his shoulders, as such was routine. 

Now empty-handed, Octavia kissed his forehead and crept back out. 

Her jacket was thrown over a lamp in the hallway. 

She carefully slipped out of her shoes on the stairwell and tucked them next to Nyms (the third step, agreed upon long ago as the danger step.)

Her fucking skirt was a pain and a half to remove, so it was simply loosened and skimmed, top layer left on Raymond's doorknob just to tease. 

She was trying to undo her top as she finally hit her room, and as such, it wouldn't be removed tonight either. As soon as Octavia stepped n she faceplanted on the bed, groaning. 

No more doing things. 

She'd done enough things today. 

The comforter smelled like vanilla and honey and all of her siblings combined _(somehow_ her bed was designated as the family meeting area long ago) and she exhaled slowly. 

Songs unsung politely asked for her to rise, and she thought about it honestly for a long moment. She hadn't been yet able to play today. Her hands missed it. 

_Knock knock._

She had more important things, though. 

Nym wandered into her room like a sleepy, clumsy ghost. Octavia willed herself to move, and gently helped steer him into her bed. He mumbled something unintelligible, and she tucked the sheets around him proper. 

Octavia slid in beside him, a bone-deep type of tired. She'd play in the morning. Nym yawned, and his big sister wrapped an arm around him. When there were less important things to tend to, she'd play. 


	19. Whoops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poke poke

"Alright, you're all qualified to get a job at the local animal shelter or pest control; whatever. So--"

"Are we actually?"

"Logan for the love of God let me finish _one_ sentence, _please._ I'm not far from actually begging, shut the fuck up."

"Sorry, sir."

"...Right. As I was _tryin_ to say before the solid C student got uppity again, you're all gonna be--" Queensly paused, suddenly at a loss. Shit. Elana, ever the teacher's pet, popped Logan upside the head for him. "Uh..."

His desk wasn't remotely helpful, nor was the whiteboard, nor was the itinerary. Lily, ever the poltergeist when he did something particularly stupid, chimed in the back of his head with the helpful reminder that he had to actually keep an itinerary for it to be useful. Shithead. 

The door opened, entering a large blue cylinder. Not helping. 

"Alright whoever used this thing lat didn't roll it right, I can't fit it through," Arrow said from behind the mass, clearly trying to shove the thing in any way. "That means someone _help--_ c'mon."

Queensly snapped into focused, then literally snapped for one of his students to go help the other teacher. They'd all been content to stare, following Queenslys lead. 

Blue cylinder, Arrow, _exercise mat_ that was an exercise mat-- they were doing hand to hand today. With Cynthia and Elana's help, the mat did make it through. 

"I need it back on Thursday, and can you _try_ keeping it in one piece? Gunk free too! Claws to yourself and--"

"Everyone say thank you to Mr. Gould so he can go back to his own room."

His students, dutiful shitheads they all were, droned goodbye. Arrow shot him a look but did laugh softly on his way out. 

"Right! I'm decently positive all present can suplex a cracked up wolf, you're welcome, but it's come to my attention there's been a level spike the past few months so that particular skill might not come in as handy." They all look varying levels of disappointed, something he'd find decently amusing later. "Since it was an upspike, means there's gonna be more upper levels about, means you all need to be decent at taking on something a little more human." 

"Isn't that--"

"Logan we're not having this conversation again, I do _not_ control how demons' appear. The stronger ones just usually look human, that's the end of it, stop fucking asking me." 

Elana looked to him, and Queensly shook his head. He sorta liked having a teacher's pet like her. 

"So this week is gonna--" 

"This week until Thursday, right Mr. Clubs?"

"You assholes realize nothing is preventing me from hitting you, right? Literally nothing. Yes, until Thursday." Queensly drug the mat center and kicked it open, sighing. "Partner up, we're gonna be running through some basics today. Getting out of a hold, couple takedowns, maybe if you all start acting right show you how to disarm someone."

He _felt_ all their interests pique and was quick to add on: "With a _knife_ , gotta long way to go before you get to play in the armory. Jeez."

For the next few hours, he ran them through the basics and was pleased when they all immediately took to it. Should have figured, this group in particular was rougher than the previous few. It had it's (numerous) downsides, but this wasn't one. Took to fighting fast, and made his life easier in that regard at least. 

"--But chokeholds aren't actually all they're cracked up to be, Lyn sweetheart if you can get a grip on my elbow--"

"Your phone is ringing Mr. Clubs."

"Let it, 's not my problem."

"It's the flip phone."

"D or an L?"

"What?"

"Look on the little screen and-- Robbie come be Lyn's partner-- the little screen Dennis."

"L."

"Fuck. Alright, give it here." Dennis dutifully passed his professor the phone. "Hello? Yes, I'm busy. No. No. You said you got married for this reason exactly. I said I was busy."

The class got to watch Queensly go through the five stages of grief as L spoke for a while.

"I'll be there in 5."

He shut the phone with a snap. 

"Alright kiddos family emergency, do homework, practice beating one another up, etc." 

"Wait how _emergency_ is it, sir?"

"The hell do you mean, how emergency is it? It's a family emergency."

"You said picking your kid from football practice was an emergency last month."

"It's softball now, _Logan,_ fuck off. I'm gone."

"Wait, wait, wait Mr. Clubs can you show us the knife thing? Before you go?"

Queensly looked at Elana. She smiled hopefully at him.

"...Fine. Demonstration only though, 'm girls waiting." Now, where was-- ah. Open on his desk was the demonstration knife, and he quickly snatched it. "Elana, c'mear. Alright, get in position like you're gonna go for my wrist, you were decent with those exercises."

"Uh, Mr. Clubs is that a real--"

"Logan, I'm not about to stab one of my students. Maybe objectively the best student here, wouldn't make sense to make the class average take such a nosedive for no reason." Looking around though, most of the students watching looked... nervous. "It's a _prop_ , kids, relax. Like, I'm pretty sure it retracts or something when you press it."

Somehow none of them looked particularly reassured. Queensly groaned.

"I know what the hell I'm talking about." None of them budged. "I _know_ what the hell I'm talking about, look--"

He stabbed it into his stomach, then gestured to the class. They looked horrified. He looked at his stomach. 

His shirt was red. That was. Hm. 

"Kids I think it was a real knife."

"You're bleeding!"

"Yes I know I'm bleeding, Missy it's fine--"

"Holy shit--"

"You stabbed yourself--"

"I'm calling 911--"

"We're in a government base dipshit--"

"Where's the first aid kit--"

Be a human for hand to hand day, Queensly. You're not allowed to punch teenagers when your knuckles are metal, Queensly. It'll make them less intimidated, Queensly. You should probably put a label on the prop knife so you know what's real, Queensly. 

He physically couldn't pick up the label maker Lily got him last year for Christmas, and now he was paying the price. 

"Alright." He said, trying to stay level. It was a tall order when he was still deciding if he liked kids or not and there were approximately 15 of them yelling all around him. Right. 

" _Alright,"_ he tried again, attempting to get their attention. He managed to hook about a third of them and decided it would have to do. "I'm _fine_. Class dismissed, get out I've gotta get my shit. Shoo-- Get-- Can and will touch you with the bloody hand _move it."_

While it took several minutes more to convince them all that A) he was, genuinely, fine and B) get them out of his room so he could leave, Queensly was made for difficult. He assumed. Fucking felt like it sometimes. 

It was when he was in the car he realized he might've bled on the gym mats, and would have to deal with Arrow on Thursday. Which was. Also fine, he was _made_ for difficult. God fucking damn it.


	20. All You Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is--  
> Some more fucking friends, Lilith.

"Dr. Diamond! Dr. Diamond, please hold the--" Lilith never made a habit of holding the elevator, but this one was quick enough to grab it on her own. "Sorry! Almost missed you, ha."

Lilith hummed, pressing the button for the lobby. It'd honestly been too long a day for a conversation. She glanced over and was mildly startled to find she was being smiled at. 

"...Mrs. Thoren?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, Dr?" the other woman positively chirped, smiling brighter. Lilith _really_ didn't want to do this tonight and tried earnestly to let her know with her tone. 

"Did you _need_ something?"

"You're married aren't you?"

"We don't swing." Why in God's name was her building so tall, they were only on the 18th floor. Thoren burst out laughing, lightly laying a hand on Liliths arm. Lilith carefully picked it up and removed it, shuffling a step away. 

"Oh, no ma'am you don't need to worry that it's--" she lost herself in giggles again, and Lilith stared at the floor count. 15. "Sorry, you just surprised me! I heard through the grapevine you haven't taken a day off in quite a while!"

"I'm only here 10 days a month what are you--"

" _Well,_ you're working another job, Dr. Diamond--"

"Oh which I attend 5 days out of the month, please don't attempt to lecture me on my workload Mrs. Thoren I find it highly inappropriate." 

"That's not what I'm doing Dr!" Floor 10. Thoren seemed decently off her game at least. 

While they spoke often and genially enough, this late into the evening White was off-put by the womans... pep. There was just a lot of pep to deal with. It was normally a positive, but the majority of Lilith's head was already curled around her husband on the couch, and the remaining scraps piloting her weren't fond of it. 

"Then what _are_ you doing, Mrs. Thoren?" She asked plainly. 

"Are you working Friday?"

"...No?"

"Here or at White Sales?"

"No."

"Do you have any plans? My wife and I have been dying to meet your husband, and there's this new bistro downtown I think would be really nice too--"

"I told you we don't swing." Lilith cut her off hard, just a tad ruffled. 

_"Lilith_ I _know_ you don't, it's not like that. I just think we should meet up _after_ work sometime."

 _"Why,_ Felicity?"

The elevator door pinged open. Thoren huffed, adjusting her grip on her bag. "I've known you for three years now."

"Yes, though I don't know what that has to--"

"We talk every single day when you're here, and I _thought_ it was past time we meet somewhere you can be a little-- I dunno-- _looser."_ She shifted her coat tighter around her, quickly striding out of the elevator. As she left, she called over her shoulder " _My bad."_

Dr. Lilith White-Diamond stared after her, mystified. 

*******************

"--And then she just _walked off._ Ridiculous."

Jack hummed, turning the back burner on low and starting to dig around the upper cabinet. 

"Sweetheart can you--" Lilith moved close, grabbing the food processer and handing it down to him. "Thank you. I know what's going on, but you're not going to like me for it."

"I love you."

"You're being mean to this woman."

"You're right I don't like you anymore." Jack laughed, pulling a knife and starting to mince what he'd brought in today. Peso night. "You heard me, didn't you? That whole thing? Jack, I was on the defense from minute one."

"This is the CFO?"

"Mhm."

"Who you have lunch with every day?"

Lilith huffed, crossing her arms. He cast her a look, and she crossed them tighter. "...Not _every_ day."

"You like her, though. Or you wouldn't tolerate her for _most_ everyday lunch."

"She's competent, yes. When she's not being a tryhard she's decently funny-- I can appreciate the energy she brings with her to work every day... I like her more than Julliard."

"You like everyone more than Julliard."

"True enough. But what does that have to do with anything?"

He raised a hand, piling what was on the cutting board into the processer. His wife hopped up to sit on the counter, patiently waiting. 30 seconds-- no too chunky. Another 15. 

"She's trying to be your friend."

Lilith scrunched her face. 

"Why?"

"Because you're charming."

"Jack, I'm serious. She's top dog already in her respective field; unless she wants to keep going to upper management... I didn't peg her the type, but--"

"Ah-ah, stop that. She sounds nice, Lilith."

"She is nice, but--"

"But nothing. She's trying to be your friend because she likes you." He thought for a moment. "She might not anymore, but still."

" _But--_ " Lilith continued, a little louder. "I already have a friend, she's out of luck." 

"Lilith you're allowed to have more than one, and hear me out on this--" he gently tapped on her leg, motioning to the cabinet below her. She spread them, and he laughed a little, pressing a quick kiss to the inside of her knee as he bent to dig for a pot. "I think it might be good for you to _get_ more than one." 

"You're one to talk."

"I have plenty of friends, Lilith."

"Better not be counting the others in your unit."

"I'm not," he said stiffly, moving to the sink. "Or Knight either, even."

"Bullshit."

" _Not._ "

"Why haven't I heard about these _friends,_ then? And why haven't I met any of them."

"You have, briefly."

He flicked on one of the upper burners, setting down the pot heavily. Medium-high would do, they weren't in a rush tonight. He looked back to his wife and found her looking a little lost. He moseyed over, nestling comfortably between her legs. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders. 

"Alright fine. Help me, please?" she asked, nuzzling into his head. 

"Work-friends, Lilith."

She immediately leaned away, frowning. 

"The workplace is _not_ a place for friends."

"I know you think so."

"I do! Those don't count, Jack. We've never been out with any of them, or had them here."

"Boys in blue travel in groups, I just thought maybe... I think the double date thing with Felicity sounds like a good idea. Ease you into it."

"Oh, ha-ha, Diamonds."

"I'm serious, it sounds fun. You don't believe in work friends and turn down the opportunity to meet someone you like _outside_ of work. Just doesn't add up."

Lilith went through a couple different faces, mostly playful, until something hit her. 

"Are you trying to _socialize_ me, Diamonds?!" He laughed, and she hit his chest. "No, no no no _not_ funny Hero, not even close."

"If you _have_ to put it like that, maybe."

"Oh, fuck off!"

Jack did momentarily fuck off when he heard the sound of water boiling. When he came back, however, Lilith was less than welcoming to their previous position. No problem though. He leaned on the counter next to her, grinning up at her. 

"Lilith?"

She tilted her head up and away. 

" _Lilith_ ," he tried again, gently nudging her. " I was serious about it being a good idea. Could think of it just like a regular date, hm? Don't even worry about Felicity and her wife."

"I just don't think--"

"How longs it been since we've been on a date, huh?"

"Not long enough for that to work."

"Look at me."

"No."

"Look at me, Lilith."

"I said no."

Lilith White-Diamond looked down at him. He smiled. Her frown got significantly deeper. 

"...I'll talk to her in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember when it was legitimately a grind to complete a 1k piece in a single day. This isn't a flex, though I am proud of this. About 1.5 in 3 hours, polished and well written. I just think it's neat is all.


	21. Pleasant Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. This is missing its fourth piece, but I think if I work any longer on it it'll overcook-- it's very delicate process you understand.

He wishes the phone would ring. 

Not that Jack would ever _wish_ for anyone to need to call him with this line of work, but the few leads he'd managed to scrape up had gone cold _years_ ago. 

After the takedown he'd managed on the docks he would have thought his name might be circulating at least a _little._ Word of mouth was important, and it was currently killing him. 

That wasn't entirely fair, Mrs. Merue did hire him for all of the hour it took to for him find out what had been happening to her mail. 

It felt like the far too sparse corkboard was leering at him, and Jack tried earnestly not to look at it. The docks meant _something_ , couldn't just be freestanding, but every twist that seemed remotely worth it ended in him trudging home at some ungodly hour, emptyhanded. 

He glanced at the board. Mhm. The damn thing was still empty. 

His head hit the cheap desk with a less than satisfying _thunk._

Could probably clean the place. Again. The lemony-fresh only seemed to stick around for a few hours tops. 

Don't do it--

He checked his watch and was dismayed to find it barely 2:30. He'd had a late night of little success and slept in this morning, even. 

_Thunk._

When the phone did ring, Jack almost missed it, too caught up in inspecting the carpets weird stain. Decently sure he didn't put it there. Too dark for most drinks, but didn't seem the right shade for blood either. Some kinds of alcohol _might_ be able to manage it, but it seemed a strange size and shape for a spill. The landlord was barely polite enough to tell him the months rent, there was no way he would tell Jack--

_Hold it!_

He caught it on the last ring, fumbling a bit with the receiver. 

"Diamond Eye Detective Agency, you've got Jack Diamond-- how can I help you?" The receiver was silent. "Hello?"

"That was a bit of a mouthful, wasn't it?" a voice asked. 

"...Uh. Pardon?"

"I'd lose the last bit honestly, weakens the whole pitch, Hero."

He knows that voice.

"Oh, Miss White." He honestly hadn't expected her to use the card he'd giver her, but he was glad she had. "Is there something I can do for you?"

A shuffle of fabric, a shaky breath. Silence.

"Miss--"

"I think I'm in trouble." Another one of those weak exhales, like she was trying to keep herself calm. He sat straighter in his chair.

"Miss White?" he prompted again gently. 

"I think I'm in trouble and I just-- I need help. I need _your_ help if you meant what you said before."

_Anytime, for anything. Just call me, okay?_

"Of course I meant what I said."

"Can we talk somewhere? Please? I don't really feel--" she cut off, spiking his anxiety. "Do you have somewhere we can meet?"

"The card I gave you has my office address on the--"

" _No._ Someplace public would be better."

Jack blinked, just a tad taken back. The request made enough sense, busy areas were better to hide from listening ears, but it begged the question of what kind of trouble she was in, exactly, for the precaution to be necessary. Regardless:

"I think I know a place."

******************

Lilith White made it a habit to be early wherever she went. Past the obvious professional reasons, it gave her time to settle into whoever she may need to be. It was getting to be more work as she was utilized more frequently, but nothing that a shot of bourbon couldn't help.

She needed scared, she needed anxious, she needed begrudgingly, timidly trusting. 

Two shots of bourbon, maybe.

"How can I help you?"

She flashed her smile to he bartender, which he returned graciously, but very... Brightly. He was a very bright young man. 

"Two 1792s, please," she said. He made a bit of a face, something close enough to curiosity she didn't take offense. "I'm waiting for someone, just a little nervous, y'know?"

She laughed softly, and his smile was quick to return. 

"Oh, sorry. If you think your friends gonna be a while I'd recommend snagging one of the back booths now, they're best in house and we're getting a rush in just a bit."

Lilith nodded in thanks, and did take her drinks to the back to settle. She had 30 minutes before her little hero showed. 

Her head hit the back of the booth with a _thunk._

She should have asked one of the boys to drop her off an hour early instead. 

_Thunk._

The lipstick chosen for this little event tasted like absolute shit. Sugary, far too cherry, and some kind of chemical she couldn't quite place, it didn't play nice with her choice of drink. Add in the displeasure of seeing the color on the rim of the glass, and Lilith had to fight off a scowl. 

Sad eyes, a soft downturn of the lips, shoulders curled-- god _damn it_ that shit tasted bad. She quickly downed her other drink and scrubbed at her mouth with a napkin. Cherry was for little girls chapstick and whores decedent, dick-plush--

"Miss White?"

Lilith jumped slightly, making the new arrival immediately take a step back, hands raised in sheepish apology. 

She blinked at him, leaning towards incredulous. "You're early, Hero."

"And yet you still beat me here," he said, motioning to the spot next to her in the circular booth. "Johnny said you were waiting for someone, they won't mind me keeping you company, will they?"

Jack grinned at her, and she continued to blink at him. Was that meant to be a joke? He'd been all serious concern over the phone, _and_ in their last meeting, albeit with a healthy helping of confusion during the ladder. 

She nodded to the empty spot, and he slid in close next to her. 

"No need to worry, I'll be good."

Again with that tone, playful and just too loud to be-- _shit._

She was most certainly _not_ displaying what she'd hoped to, his early arrival throwing her off. Going straight to terrified wouldn't make sense now, but she could work with the energy he was (literally) bringing to the table. She tucked in closer herself, smiling weakly.

"I'd love the company," Lilith said, brushing their thighs together. To accommodate the lack of space he carefully twined an arm past her, resting it on the back of the booth. Two friends meeting up, perfectly comfortable. 

"Miss White," Jack asked lowly, with that same grin. "Do you think you're in immediate danger?"

"No," she said, matching his tone. "Not _immediate._ There's a rush in 20 or so minutes... I didn't expect you to be early."

"Sorry-- Old habits." Lilith didn't return his soft smile, and he cleared his throat. "Right. Nothing immediate, but you _do_ consider yourself in danger. Before I can agree to help, I need to know what exactly is happening."

"You already agreed to help."

"...Yes. But I still need to know what's going on."

Lilith let her hands twitch around her glass, working her lip. Got her remnants of cherry, but that couldn't be helped. Jack let her take her time, eye level and calm on her face. 

"Can I trust in your discretion?"

"Miss White, please."

She nodded, sighing softly. 

"The past few months I've been getting these... Notes. And I'm not the type to startle easily, but they got continuously more graphic when I just ignored them, and while they've stopped recently I've started noticing..."

She gently shifted herself closer, biting down harder on her lip. While her little hero didn't seem fond of actual contact, he allowed it, back to all concern. Good.

"Noticing... I-I don't know. I don't think I'm being followed, but I kept seeing things in the corner of my eye, and one night my apartment was... Wrong. I'm sorry, I know that sounds crazy but things just felt _wrong,_ y'know? Little things out of place, a window I thought-- I _knew_ was locked when I left.

"I was starting to _feel_ crazy honestly, but last night I got this call and... And I had to get help."

"Can you tell me the nature of the notes?" Lilith let herself flinch, and he was quick to continue. "Intention, I need to know the intention not-- ah. Do you know why this is happening? If it's some type of ransom I can work with that, stalking is a little harder but nothing I can't--"

"They're trying to get to my dad."

"...Your dad?"

She patiently waited a few beats, but he clearly wasn't getting it. Right. New to the city. 

"Jamison White; He's the acting commissioner."

"...Lilith White."

"Mhm."

"Alright, I'm following." He made a bit of a face, cocking his head slightly. "No, I'm not, Miss White if someone is attempting to threaten your father--"

"Attempting a squeeze, I think." 

"Attempting to get him to spill private information, then, I can understand why they'd go through you-- _not_ why you're talking to me right now."

"..."

"Certainly seems he's in a better place to handle this kind of thing." Lilith made a point to draw back from him, looking intently at the table. What was long stale news to her needed some preparation before it was allowed out in standard conversation, and she was doing her best to look appropriately conflicted over it. 

"It's... It's complicated. I haven't told him."

"What could be _so_ complicated you don't want your dad to know you're being threatened, Miss White? I need transparency."

"He's -- Detective please understand, I love my father but he's just... He's a very _political_ man. And what they're asking for is-- I just--" Lilith White took a long, shuddering breath to compose herself. Check left, check right. He sat straighter, shoulders setting. He was a small man, but the protective puff was noted and filed away for later, and accepted now as a good sign. "I was-- I a _m_ worried if he knew the situation he'd make the wrong decision for the wrong reasons. History says he might."

Jack took a minute to chew through it, eying her carefully. 

"You're right, that is complicated."

"I can make it worse."

"You can't make it worse."

"I've been given a deadline to get the info. Two whole days."

"Stop being right that _is_ worse." 

"Two days as of last night, so one now really."

"You've already won, I admitted it, you can stop Miss White."

Lilith White took a long breath, then frowned, looking away. Jack took the cue from her, and coughed softly, shifting back to business. 

"You're going to be fine." She shrugged, eyes cast downward and tugging at the hem at her skirt. Helped get her character back to nervous, but the damn thing _had_ hiked up her thigh as they spoke anyway. "Miss White, I mean it. Of course I'll help."

_Hook._

"Is... They expect you to deliver information?"

"Mhm. I'm not positive what exactly they want, sounded like some old files or something. Dad would know."

"No, I mean they expect _you_ to deliver them? In-person?"

Lilith nodded. _Line._

"Supposed to be at this warehouse downtown tomorrow at 11."

His jaw set, and he flashed her a smile she wasn't quite sure what to do with. Not quite cocky, but determined, excited. It did something funny to his face, to the whole of him really. She filed it away to think on later, not that it mattered much. 

"Wouldn't mind a little company then too, would you?"

It was almost a shame. 

She smiled softly, nodding gratefully. 

"I'd love some, Hero."

_Sinker._

******************

He was expecting closer to 6.

Didn't seem like a terribly organized squeeze, and after running a few laps around the perimeter of the warehouse (smaller than usual already) and spotting exactly _one_ kid keeping watch, he'd deemed it an easy takedown _much_ too early. 

There were closer to 15, and every one of them were packing guns much too big for-- everything. For the gang, for the neighborhood, for the crime try were trying to pull off; he'd honestly been more put off by the sight of them than actually being drawn on. Something wasn't quite connecting here. 

"Miss White." He called, shakily making his way back to his car. While he'd managed not to get mangled with bullets, 15 _was_ a lot. They'd been expecting one woman with an information drop. First times were always more beefed up but... He couldn't decide if the whole mess was sloppy or not, armed like they were. 

Sleek and black and safely parked a block and a half away, Vera Lynn was truly a sight for sore eyes. 

(God-- he was going to be sore tomorrow, wasn't he?)

Lilith White stared at him with wide eyes as he crawled back into the driver's seat. 

"Detective?" She asked, voice soft. 

Was something wrong? She was-- oh. He quickly hiked up his jacket, scrubbing where he felt spatter on him.

"It's not mine--" He winced slightly, and was quick to continue. Her eyes only got wider. "No one's-- I don't-- Ah. You don't need to worry about any of them Miss White, they're okay."

She nodded stiffly, and he rolled his shoulders, trying to think. He needed to look around that place, but taking her in with him was a non-option, even if they were all downed. Too many to wheel to the station himself... 

"Miss White?" He asked. She blinked at him. "How far do you live?"

The question seemed to draw her back to the car, and she focused a bit then. 

"Close."

"I'm going to drop you off at home, need you to call the police and get them shipped down, alright? I'll swing back later to check on you later but I need to dig through the place."

"1189 South Vermont."

Really was close. Not exactly the type of neighborhood he expected her to be set up in, but for now, it was in their favor. They were parked again in under five minutes. 

He sighed, slipping out of his seat to get Lilith's door. Beat to shit or no, chivalry wasn't dead. That and he was decently sure she was in shock. 

Her hand closed on his and he dutifully pulled her out of the vehicle, but she didn't let go. 

"Miss--"

"How--" she shook her head softly, apparently trying to right herself. "Detective, how many were back there? You look like hell."

"I wasn't exactly counting--" he started. Didn't really think giving her a number would help her sleep at night.

"But you know, don't you?" she pressed. "Please?"

"... 15. I think."

Whatever he'd expected her reaction to be, some kind of grim acknowledgment, fear maybe, she certainly surprised him.

Lilith White positively _burst_ out laughing. 

Shoulders shaking, ear to ear, chest curled in, _really_ laughing. 

"Uh," he said, not really sure what to make of it. "Miss White?"

"Sorry-- Sorry. I'm sorry you just--" she cut herself off with a wheeze, clearly not done. A little heat crept up his collar, and he wasn't sure why. "I'm sorry detective, but _15._ That's a lot."

She broke off again, though this time it was closer to giggling, a hand gently hiding her mouth as though that would help.

"Call it stress if you want; it's been a very long few months is all." That made... enough sense. "I didn't know it was going to be so-- I mean-- Thank you. You really saved me."

She kissed his cheek, flashing him a final smile before turning away to scale the stairwell of the apartment building, calling behind her

"Looking forward to that check-up later, Hero."

He almost forgot to go back to the warehouse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a mess, kids.


	22. Sanguine Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So um? Kinda? Sultry I guess? Look there's no official tag for this, just be warned I suppose.

"Now _that's_ not your usual shade of red, Red. Special occasion?" His wife doesn't spare a glance, still carefully applying lipstick. He settled into her view in the mirror, grinning. "I bet I can guess. That one place call you back? Be fuckin' stupid not to, but still reason enough to celebrate."

She cut him a look, ghost of a smile forming, but didn't say anything. No luck.

"Hm. Daddy dearest sent it 'n you're trying it out?"

Was a bit too much of a fuck-me shade of red for that to be an honest contender, and as such Francine didn't dignify it with a glance. 

"Girls night I forgot about? _Anniversary_ I forgot about? Know it's not a regular date night but..." He lit up, smiling brightly at her. "Not regular for _us--_ you've got a boyfriend."

That broke her resolve, and she immediately set down the makeup, hand coming up over her mouth as she laughed. 

" _Charlie,_ don't!"

He set a hand on his chest, feigning hurt.

"Don't what? Ache over losing my gorgeous wife to another--" he gasped, and she arched a brow, giggling still. "It's not Richmond, is it?"

Her smile immediately dropped, and she groaned, turning away from him. 

"Don't even joke about that Charlie, I'm begging you."

"What's wrong? He's your boyfriend, not mine."

"Charlie!"

He reached out to tug gently on the back of her dress, and she swatted at him. Richmond was maybe the least favored of his coworkers, she wouldn't be humoring him. Not without a little more grease, at least. 

"C'mear." he said.

"Absolutely not."

" _C'mear._ " he tried again, gently tugging again. She shot his reflection a _look_ in the mirror, and he smiled to her. "Please?"

She slid over onto the bed and in his lap slowly, like it was her meandering idea instead of her husband's request. He didn't mind in the slightest, running a hand along her spine slow and sweet. The new look wasn't a bad thing, just not her usual. Heavier eyes, darker lips, sharper curves to the hallow of the cheeks. _Luxurious._ He could fuck with it, but first--

"Alright, 'm done guessing. If there isn't some grand love affair with my _beloved_ coworker--" A warning flick on the shell of his ear, and he continued. "Then what's with the look, Red?"

Francine popped her gloss close to his ear, and he shuddered. Rude. 

"Don't you like it?" 

Oh, she was being _mean,_ the hell was that tone? 

"Never said I didn't, asking what it's for, Franny."

"I'm allowed to try something new now and again, aren't I?" Charlie wasn't jumping to respond, focus having gone funny as she dipped a hand into his shirt. Nothing scandalous, just pawing along the tense bits of his shoulders, but she didn't need to be to get him melting. Always got knots in the same spots. "Performers gotta keep her face fresh, right? You don't seem to mind."

"Mh... You could set me on fire and I wouldn't _mind_ it, Red. This?" He got a hand in her hair, tilting her head to level with him. "This is a _treat._ " 

Perfectly plush and covered in fuck-me red, her lips were a delight to watch twist into a grin.

"Then enjoy it."

Damn fucking delight to taste, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you have to look yourself in the eyes and say, no more. No more writing on this. It's stronger as a short piece and that's okay.


	23. 3 Strikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh, them.
> 
> a warmup ive been using for a while turned out cute enough for me to share.

They'd went with silk this time, and what a poor choice it was. 

The train being lobed off hadn't done a terrible amount of damage, being a separate piece, but she'd gotten hung up, _again_ , on the scaling, and the new rip threatened to take the whole dress apart. The delicate thing really wasn't meant for fighting. Go figure. 

Lilith White sat gently down in one of the few remaining reception chairs, nursing her right arm. Be fine in a few minutes, just had to wait. The gash on her leg had already sealed, and though her head felt fuzzy and stiff, she knew it was fine too. Priority was given to areas of highest sensitivity and importance, she was _fine._

Chest just hurt. 

Her chest just hurt something _awful,_ and every little thing was making it worse. 

The topcoat of her petticoat had a ragged edge, and it scratched gently at the new ( _sensitive_ ) skin of her thigh and another bit of the stage collapsed and the noise sent a spike of pain straight to her growing headache and one chair leg was uneven and forced her to put more weight on one side and it was _much_ too sunny out this was a stupid idea she should have never agreed to an outdoor reception she hated the outdoors she was allergic to bees it didn't matter if this arboretum made her cry when they were first scouting for locations it was a stupid call and left them in the open and unarmed, relatively unarmed, less armed than they usually were, for when something might-- something _did_ go wrong and--

"Lilith?" Jack asked, kneeling beside her. She blinked, coming back to herself. 

Her chest hurt and he _looked_ hurt and there were a million things they needed to talk about and--

"You look like shit."

He laughed and she put her head in her hands, mumbling out a half-hearted apology. He _did_ look like shit, in fairness. 

"Well, not to be cliche," he said, getting a hand on her face to make her look at him. Beat to shit bastard. Beat to shit, handsome bastard when he smiled at her like that. "But you look gorgeous, Lilith."

He was holding the side of her face that was more or less one big scab at the moment, and she shot him an appropriately withering look. 

"Jack..." she tried, but found nowhere to go. His free hand gently found it's way to her chest, right over her heart. She pressed into it, willing it to take some of the ache. "I wanted this one to work."

His (sad; reassuring) smile dropped slightly.

"And-- And I wanted _every one_ to be the one that made it, but I just... I just really wanted this one to work." 

Hand on her chest, there was no hiding the way her breath hitched. He didn't say anything, and she continued, attempting to clarify. 

"I know that's stupid, I was the reason one and two didn't make it; I was anxious and neurotic and I was anxious and neurotic this time too but I actually made it to the aisle so I just thought--"

Lilith would _not_ be crying over this, so she stopped talking.

"Lilith?" Jack asked quietly. She hummed in response, wincing as something in her shoulder snapped back into place. "This is... Unfortunate."

She shot him a look, pulling slightly back, and he was quick to correct. 

"No, no you're right; this fucking sucks, Lilith. The first two times weren't-- entirely according to plan, but this time? Things going wrong like this? I need you to _not_ take it as a sign, okay?"

"I'm not superstitious, Jack."

"No, you're not. You're very smart, but trying to rationalize this into _anything_ just isn't going to work dear, so don't."

She was never supposed to be in white, not like this. She knew it the first time, knew that she just wasn't _made_ that way. She knew it the second time too, and it felt good to get back to what she was. 

This time... She'd almost forgotten. 

She was excited and scared (A good kind of scared) and so _focused_ on getting to the end of the god damn aisle it almost completely slipped her mind, so the universe sent a fucking dragon to remind her. 

He was being far too optimistic, thinking she hadn't already rationalized it. 

Her chest hurt. 

"Yes sir." She said anyway. 

He shuffled slightly, re-arranging himself onto one knee. 

"You don't have to do--"

"Lilith White--"

"Hero, really we'll just try again you don't--"

His hand left her chest, instead cupping her hands gently. 

"Will you marry me?"

She didn't hesitate to answer, despite the ridiculousness of it all. There was literally a burning alter maybe 20 feet away from them. 

"Of course, Jack."

He stood to kiss her, hands finding her face again. 

"Could be a winter reception this time."

"Get to use blue accents then, I like it."

"And silver?"

"And silver, there are our colors already. We're getting good at this."

Fourth times the charm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey did you know there's a second half of this where I expound on those chest pains she's feeling in the (highly stressful) days before the fourth wedding? They're sitting cozily in my drafts, this chapter was actually me running with the idea of her waking up unexpectedly in her sword. It's always strange to see what actually gets posted here.


	24. Holding On To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So! This took quite a while and while I'm not 100% satisfied I've said my peace, this is about as close as I can manage at the current time. Mad lad hours. Recovery hours.

_It looks like a little kid's worst nightmare version of a dentist's chair._

_You've never been scared of the dentists, but the sight of it freezes you as the elevator doors creak open. You don't want to be here you don't want to be here you don't--_

_Your father gently taps you from behind, and you move forward without hesitation. There's no room to question anything, he told you to be quiet in the car, and you're the good one. You have to be the good one now, it fucked things up. _

_You stall a few feet away, just staring down at the thing._

_Straps._

_You don't want to be here._

_"Take a seat Little bird, you're okay."_

_It's him. It's him and you're you, and as such you sit down when told. That simple. Even if you're shaking._

_You're okay._

_He kisses your forehead, and you flinch. You always flinch, and he always chuckles, smiling into your hair; this time is no different. You're okay._

_"Stay still for me sweetheart, hm?"_

_You nod, and he chuckles again, going about gently strapping you in. Every time you flinch he stalls, cooing, and when he hears your breath hitch he's quick to pull away and cup your face, reassuring._

_You're okay, he tells you that you're okay and you trust him._

_You want to apologize. You don't know what for, but you do. You're okay but you feel sick and weak and so, so sorry-- but you keep your mouth shut. You're the good one now and he asked you to shut the fuck up in the car, you're doing as told. _

_By the time you're completely immobile, you're crying. The tears are silent and they track down your face, because you're being good and he has to know that, biting down hard on a scream._

_You're not it_ ** _\--_ ** _you do as you're told you don't put up a fight you're trying so hard to be--_

_"You're my good girl, Little bird."_

_There it is. He pulls out your elastic, tucking part of your hair behind an ear and petting over the rest. You lean into the touch, what little you can._

_"I know you are darling, it's okay. I told you to be quiet in the car?"_

_You nod best you're able. He smiles at you, lovestruck and perfectly besotted as he kisses your forehead again._

_"For this next part... I know you'd last as long as you could, but there's no need. I'd really love to hear you."_

******************

Lilith Gould wakes up screaming. 

Lilith Gould wakes up screaming and thrashing and terrified, unable to move. Something's wrong she can't-- she _won't_ this time won't let herself--

She can't breathe. She can't move or breathe or tell where she is but it doesn't matter, she _bites_ as soon as she feels hands on her, for all the good it does her. Hurts like a bitch, actually, but she's not trying to hurt him; just needs to get away this time. 

"Shit-- Lilith c'mon it's-- _Lights!_ "

The lights snap on, and she can't see anything still, tear blurred and blinded. Great fucking idea. 

Arms are crossed tightly over her chest, back pressed to something cool and hard, legs still tangled in sheets, Lilith screams again. 

"I know, I know, I've got you, it's okay Lilith I'm here--"

And so on. After a bit, details did come back. 

She was in the base. 

Raiden had a grip on her, propped up so she wouldn't choke but with her wrists locked so she wouldn't scratch at restraints that weren't there, cooing and shushing into her hair. 

He was dead. 

Even after all the facts were laid out plainly, the pair stayed together in a heap on the ground, gently rocking. 

******************

"Did I bite you last night?"

He didn't seem phased, continuing to type, but she caught the wince. 

"Didn't hurt kid, don't sweat it."

"I'm not, I think I broke a tooth."

"Oh, shit."

Lilith scooted closer on his desk, and Raiden took her chin in one hand, trying to see the damage.

"Where am I looking here?"

"First bicuspid."

"Nope."

She swatted him, and he grinned. 

"Top left, then. If you can manage that."

"Yes ma'am." He said agreeably, but frowned after another moment of checking her out. "I can't tell if it's a fresh break or your tooth is weird. Need braces..."

Lilith jerked her head back, scowling at him. 

"I _had_ braces, don't even talk like that Tinman." she snapped. 

"You had some seriously shitty braces then, your mouth is fucked." 

"I just decided I don't care if it's broken or not, thank you Raiden." She said stiffly, turning 18 to swing her legs off the desk. "Think I'm gonna head to the kitchen, suddenly craving popcorn. You want any?"

There was no response behind her, something she was almost thankful for. Now came the hard part. 

She could walk. 

She could walk perfectly fine, there was no reason she couldn't do this. The first week was terrible, truly, but she was well into the third now. There was no reason she was hesitating, and with a huff, she stopped, hopping off the desk. 

It just _hurt._

She didn't limp, she didn't stumble once, she didn't rush. 

He was watching, she _knew_ he was watching, even if he was careful to keep typing. She wasn't stupid. 

128 carefully measured steps later, she made it. Point proved, dickhead. The fact she immediately had to take a seat on the floor was irrelevant, she'd done it and he wasn't allowed to say _shit._

Her head hit the back of the cabinet with a gentle _thunk._ Being right sucked. 

Five minutes later Raiden moseyed into the kitchen, almost casual, and collected her from the ground. 

"Don't." She snapped. 

He didn't, just carried her back over to his desk, letting her settle herself on the wood. 

"I looked up how much adult braces were, pretty sure we could swing it."

She groaned, slapping a hand over her face. Son of a bitch knew she couldn't run away. 

******************

_You slam back into focus with a wailing scream. Something-- he did something you were nodding off it hurt too much and you were going down and it's still too much you can't think with your heart going so fast it still hurts too much--_

_"Easy, Little bird take it easy, just something to keep you awake, you're fine."_

_He coos at you until you're able to settle, wiping away the fresh tears and running his hands through your hair._

_"Wouldn't want you slipping off before it's time, you understand. Do have to apologize, normally better than this but..." his hand tightens in your hair, and you whine, pathetic. "Not quite as dextrous as I used to be."_

_The accusation, the venom, the hate all fly over your head._

_All you feel is the pain, and you don't think he minds._

******************

A month and a half. 

She should be better than this. 

Lilith woke with a jolting scream, terrified for all of a minute and a half, then promptly switched to annoyed. 

She _was_ better than this. 

The door was cracked, but he still wasn't next to her yet. She'd asked him to stop babying her, and apparently, he was trying to respect that. Good. That was a good thing. 

She lasted another minute before quietly, pitifully--

"Raiden!" 

Calling for backup. 

"I'm here."

He was in the doorway, quickly moving to bedside when she gave the nod. 

"Sorry," She muttered, still some kind of embarrassed this was necessary. "I'm sorry."

He didn't say a word as he settled in beside her, just laid a light hand on her shoulder, trying to get her to lay down again. A mean kid at the best of times, running on low sleep 24/7 couldn't be helping her popularity in this place. It was probably a relief she couldn't move like she used to. 

Lilith wouldn't be able to make it back to sleep, and knew as much, but closed her eyes anyway; though there was nothing to protect her from, Raiden settled in for the long haul, watchful and protective anyway. 

The understanding was new, but one Lilith was grateful was strong enough to leave unsaid. 

******************

_"-- As soon as next quarter, though I doubt the results will be as grandiose as waiting another say, 6 months?"_

_"White Sales isn't in the habit of picking up quick uppers, they tend to die just as quickly. You'll find I'm a very patient man, Mr. Taylor, needn't rush for my sake."_

_"Hardly an upper, sir, but the project is moving along with other investors who need a quicker timeline, you understand."_

_"That desperate?"_

_"The woes of startup. Though loyal, as of right now all of our funds require a quick turnover, which is causing some tension within the ranks."_

_"I imagine that's quite limiting as well."_

_"Mh. With your contribution, we'd be able to soothe any anxiety cropping up and outweigh any flighty, token pieces."_

_"You seem very sure in my investment."_

_"Ah, my apologies I didn't mean to sound--"_

_"It's not a problem son, but it raises the concern of longevity."_

_Three hours of this._

_Head tall, back straight, eyes low._

_Just the conversation, they'd been at the party for closer to six._

_You don't understand almost any of it, and by this point, you don't really care to. Your father has you by the hand, a novel treat you'd been delighted by at the start of the night, but now means you can't wiggle off and find somewhere to sit down._

_Head tall, back straight, eyes low._

_This can't possibly last much longer, the windows have been dark for hours now. You risk a glance up at your dad._

_He looks perfectly comfortable, still smiling and chatting amicably. A spike of anxiety hits you._

_You squeeze his hand softly, gauging his attention. He doesn't squeeze back but does tighten his grip when you try letting go. Right. He wants you to stay. _

_Head tall, back straight, eyes low._

_You make it another half hour or so before it's work to keep your head tall, and you can tell he's annoyed with your constant shifting. You'd apologize, but interrupting is a far worst crime. Focus._

_You have no idea what's happening, you can't focus. Your head bonks gently on his hip once, and you can't be bothered to pick it up again._

_"After a financial inspector of my choice has a look at your records, I'd feel more comfortable discussing concrete measures such as-- Excuse me. Baby bird, please."_

_Your father scoops you up, balancing you carefully in one arm as he continues to speak. You'd feel embarrassed, no place to behave like a little kid, but you're headed down fast. You wrap a tired arm around his shoulder, muttering thanks._

_You squeeze him softly, and he squeezes back this time._

******************

Lilith Gould stares at the ceiling for a long time after waking up. 

While still highly unsettling, that wasn't the norm. 

Raiden asked every time if she wanted to talk about it when she slunk out to settle on his lap, and each time she refused, but what if he could tell this time. He wouldn't think less of her. Probably. 

She felt an all-over itch. She didn't want to be here. He wouldn't be able to tell, that was stupid. The door to her room slid open, and she was right back to unsure. Part of his job was to notice things about people. He'd notice. 

She went instead to the kitchen, trying to play it casual as his curious gaze followed her across the main area. Nothing to see here. She'd had a blank night and was just getting a drink or something. Fuck off. 

She didn't expect it to be there. 

It stood in the kitchen, lurched over the counter and looming. She stood very still, for all the good it did. 

"Care to tell me what the fuck that was?"

Wretched parasite tagged along this time then, fantastic. Always had a knack for knowing when was the worst night. 

"No." It shot her a look, all accusation and hate. Lilith was still in the entrance of the kitchen, however, still safely in Raiden's line of sight. Couldn't, and wouldn't do shit. "Don't think it's any of your business."

"When you can't keep it to yourself you _make_ it my business."

She took a step back, and it leered. Wasn't a flinch, just resettling her weight, but it didn't seem to matter. It knocked it's way past her, and she kept her head down. 

It hadn't found its appetite yet, but she would. Snake was just difficult to stomach. 

She waited until she heard the _shink_ of the door to wander slowly over to Raiden, expectant and waiting. 

"What are you doing?"

"Sorry kid, classified. Could lose my job." 

He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she laid her head comfortably on his shoulder. As comfortably as the metal would let her, that is. 

"It looks like Skyrim."

"I'd hope so, 's what it is."

She laughed, closing her eyes. Probably switched off the actual work as soon as her door opened, but she didn't mind. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Knowing it was coming didn't help, and Lilith winced. She shook her head. Raiden just nodded, squeezing her softly. 

******************

"It's a Tuesday, don't be such a pussy."

"I'm the pussy for having a brain cell? It's barely 9:30, the owner never leaves until at least like, 10."

"But you're pulling data from weekends only, weekends are a lot busier. I think Romeos right, it's been dark for a while now." 

"No, it's still a risk we don't _have_ to take, so we shouldn't."

"Don't agree with me."

"What do you mean don't agree with you?"

"I mean don't fucking agree with me you make my argument sound weaker by default."

"Oh come on I do not--"

"You super do, so cut it out."

"What you want me to join the opposition?"

"No, just stay the hell off my side or-- hey do _not_ touch, no touching allowed unless you're on my side!"

Lilith paced the length of the fence, looking for a weak spot. Going under wasn't ideal, but over was too protected. The place was falling apart, stood to reason the fence would be too. 

"I'm two seconds away from shanking you don't test me."

"You don't have anything to shank me with and everyone knows it, not that it matters, you'd never."

"Sam, gimmie a pencil."

" _Sam, I've never wronged you do not give him a--_"

"Boys," Lilith said, stern. Leaugetowns award-winning robotics club and local night terrors immediately snapped to attention. "Jeremy, I need on your shoulders."

Anthony tensed, arms crossed, but didn't push. 

Though the bottom was decently intact, the mesh lining the top was almost laughable in how easy it was for Lilith to cut away. A few scratches were nothing, they needed in. 

It was a bit of an awkward maneuver getting from on top of Jermery's shoulders to the fence, but from there swinging over was practiced and easy. She landed in the dirt hard on her hip, but it was the preferred option. Taking a landing the normal way wrecked her for hours, this way she could still get up afterward. 

Each of her boys landed behind her shortly, Romeo helping Sam down, much to the ladder's embarrassment. 

"I just think it's a bad idea." Andrew said, close to a grumble. 

Lilith shot him a look, and he raised both hands, back to agreeable and mild. 

"Jeremy, Andrew, Romeo, head to the back. Smith got three new boats in, one of them has to have a decent engine. Looking for something CFS, but electronic is fine too. Play nice."

"Lilith?"

"Hm?"

"How are we getting it over the fence?"

"With great effort. Sam, you're with me we need some more scrap too. You know what I'm looking for."

With a final shoo from Lilith they scattered, going about their respective jobs. 

This junkyard, as they came, was never particularly high security, and could be counted on for decent pieces. Lilith liked the location and the owner, and as such had her team return several times for picking. The owner left early on weekdays too, a bonus. 

"The alien species was never properly identified, don't talk headcanon to me."

"Later in season four Data refers to the incident as an attack via minimosurgins, you're really just ignoring that?"

"Yes, Data doesn't have the authority or the resources to _actually_ name the species, that's a nickname."

"What show have you been watching? Chief of Operations Data isn't the type to use nicknames."

"Less weak speculation, more scrapping Sam you've got maybe one usable piece."

"Jeremy could use this." Sam said, just a tad defensive. Lilith stopped rummaging to look proper at his find, but made a face.

"After three hours in the hot shop, maybe. Not worth it, just--"

Lilith herd a shot.

Romeo zipped past the pair, yelping. Another shot. Andrew and Jeremy were hot on his heels, kicking up dirt in their wake.

" _Smiths got a gun go go go--"_

Lilith grabbed Sam and all but threw him off the pile, skidding down directly after. Time to leave. 

Romeo made it over first, then Andrew and Jermey stalled at the top, helping throw Sam over when Lilith boosted him up.

Her turn. Jeremy yipped, a shot sending him falling off the other side. He wasn't screaming, so just bbs then, but she still needed to hurry. 

An arm caught her halfway up, wrapping around her middle and yanking her back. It was an awkward, squabbling fall that rolled her leg oddly when she landed back in the dirt, but that really wasn't a problem. Smith was a greying man getting greyer by the day, she could run circles around him any day. 

But he yanked her arm. 

It wasn't hard, didn't hurt really, just an attempt to get her standing.

She started screaming. 

Loud, desperate, and terrified. 

It didn't hurt, but it scared her the first time, even if he was quick to let go. He didn't have to keep a grip on her, she followed. 

_This time,_ Lilith screamed. She kicked and fought and just _screamed,_ eyes clamped shut _._

"Boss you've gotta calm down please--"

"Take it easy you're okay it's--"

"Lilith--"

" _We've got the fuzz!_ "

Red and blue on the scene, it was time to disappear. 

She couldn't breathe.

"I need you to take a deep breath it's okay Boss c'mon, you're okay--"

"Lilith, we're leaving to get help."

" _Excuse you_? We can't just--"

"Get your ass in the fucking van Loverboy we gotta go, _now._ "

As they went, Andrew was a fine second in command; sharing in Lilith's astounding ability to hit when necessary. Didn't make any damn sense for them all to get arrested, even if Smith never pressed charges. 

"We'll get help." He said again, resolute. 

She couldn't stop; they were allowed to do whatever the fuck they wanted. 

"Think she's alright, scared me half to death screaming like she did."

"The gun was a little much, Carl."

"'S a BB, you know I'm not going to shoot kids over my scrap but--"

"But nothing, gonna quit coming out if you keep doin' this. I'll be around in the morning for the report."

Dirt had embedded itself into her palms, and the leather felt good on them. Why was she feeling leather?

Her knees hurt.

"Kid, you doing any better back there?"

Lilith blinked. She was in a car. 

"Mh. Gonna take you back to the station, you can call your parents for pick up when we're there, alright?"

Fat fucking chance. 

The officer was wise enough not to touch Lilith when guiding her in the building, thought the good calls stopped there. After about an hour of talking down to her on the bench in that sickeningly sweet I'm-non-threatening-and-kid-friendly voice, she gave up, muttering to her colleagues about fucking teenagers. 

He took three molars. Two lower, one upper, with the uppers twin cracked and splintered so badly it had to be removed later too. If Lilith opened her mouth, blood would come drizzling out over her chin and they'd look at her and _know_. 

She'd rather die. 

It didn't make the most sense and she didn't need it to for her to keep her jaw clenched shut. Couldn't call anyone anyway, the backpack with her phone was in the van. 

_Wet concrete and blood and the tang of alcohol (was it strange he cared if he was using sterile instruments on her? was it strange she noticed?) and fluorescent lights a_ nd something sugary, the scratch of pens on paper and friendly, tired small talk. 

They were replaced with porcelain on her request. She tasted blood anyway.

"-- Sir, please unless you can prove guardianship I really can't--"

"Just back here then? Thank you."

How long had she been here, exactly? Legs went numb a while ago, though the cause was anyone's guess. 

"Heard you got busted, Little boss. C'mon, gangs worried." Was he talking to her? "Kid. You're hurt? If the bulls--"

"Sir, we can't release her to you without some kind of proof of guardianship, I'm sorry. If you could contact someone that can both identify and--"

"She's _not_ a doe."

Queensly knelt in front of her, trying to get eye contact. She stared at the ground, trying to figure out if it was tile or concrete. It was _important._

He stalked off for a moment, speaking quickly and low to the officer harassing him, flashing a badge at the end that seemed to get some attention. That got her attention if only the minimum. She knew for a fact he didn't have one of those. 

When he came back over, she was able to meet his eye. He didn't say anything for a moment, seemingly surveying her, before jerking his head to the door. 

"You're lucky I like you kid, c'mon." 

She stood slowly and carefully, testing herself out. Stable. Decent stability and minimal resistance with bending the joints, even if her left stung like an absolute bitch. Here to the door was 61 steps, and she could manage that. He better have fucking parked close. 

Queensly didn't say anything until they were safely parked in the garage again, and she was happy to follow suit, still positive her mouth was bloody.

"...So. You want to tell me what that was?"

Lilith really, really didn't. 

******************

_"I can't."_

_"Baby bird, we've talked about can't, you won't." _

_You shake your head, resolute._

_"I can't," you insisted. "Please don't make me, Daddy I can't--"_

_"It's bloodwork, Lilith, there's no way around it. You've had bloodwork before when you were younger, there's no reason to make a scene now."_

_You're making a scene?_

_Some kind of mortification wells up, but it can't make it's way past the wall of nauseating fear. There were maybe two other people in the waiting room anyhow, a distressed child was hardly a big show-- right?_

_You remember having it done before, and it hadn't hurt much at all, but every time you think about the needle now for some reason you just--_

_"Daddy," you said. Or, tried to say rather. What comes out is broken and scared, barely qualifying as a sound at all. He recognizes it though, so very familiar with the word._

_"Don't tell me you're still scared of needles, Little bird?" He asks, delighted. "I thought we got you over this when you were nine."_

_Jamison tuts, apparently disappointed in you, strapped down and bleeding as you are. He strings up a bag above you, neatly labeled AB negative. Always had the foresight to come prepared._

_"No use squirming about, you know this is for the best."_

_You don't want the needle anywhere near you._

_You don't want the needle anywhere near you, you don't want more adrenaline to keep you awake and you certainly don't want more blood to stay alive but you just-- you can't--_

_It pricks your arm, and it doesn't hurt almost at all; over everything else, you can hardly feel it._

******************

Lilith Gould woke up screaming, _again_ , and she didn't waste time being embarrassed before throwing her arms around Raiden. 

"I've got you, Lilith look at me I've got you--" and so on, the usual. 

Raiden scooped Lazarus off the desk and deposited him into Lilith's lap, gently guiding her hands to stroke over his head. Lazarus, for his part, meowed pathetically, rubbing into her like the overgrown kitten he was as her fingers curled into the fluff of his neck. 

"Deep breath in."

Deep breath in.

"Hold it if you can, then let it go. You're right here with me, it's okay."

"My arm--"

Raiden immediately shifted his hold, tucking in her arms close to her chest. Lazarus mewed again, pressed in tightly to her. 

"Let go of it Lilith, you're okay."

Deep breath out. 

"I'm okay."

"You're okay."

"I'm okay."

"You're okay."

"I'm okay, you've--" her breath hitched, and she squeezed Lazarus. She didn't want to cry tonight, but it was a losing battle. Raiden rubbed along her back, muttering into her hairline.

"I've got you, 's alright. Laz has you too, doesn't he? You know he'd never let anything bad happen. Loves you too much for that."

As if on cue, he started purring. Lilith nodded, squeezing him again. 

The three of them were getting good at this, and in less than five minutes she was breathing as she should, slow and measured. 

He didn't have to ask this time, but she knew he would, and she earnestly tried going back to sleep before it happened.

"Lilith?"

Son of a bitch. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Son of a _bitch._

Lilith shifted a little, gently rubbing on Lazarus's ears.

"...I can't." is all she managed to get out, feeling small as he looked down at her. After a few seconds, he nodded, shifting her closer and laid a hand on the cat's tummy. 

"Okay." He said softly, kissing her forehead. "That's okay, Lilith."

******************

_"I'm fine Daddy, really."_

_"The dorms?"_

_"Fine," you say, kicking at the wall. "Nothing special, but fine."_

_"You were able to get a single?"_

_"Like anyone would say no to you."_

_"Lilith."_

_"Yes, sir. I'm in a single and pretty much done setting up. The wall was a weird white, so I had to paint, but past that..."_

_"Eggshell?"_

_You wrinkle your nose slightly, wincing._

_"More like alabaster."_

_"Mh..."_

_You don't have much to say. This is your first phonecall with him since leaving, and while you're embarrassed by how much you missed his voice, you don't actually have that much to report. You're settled in fine, but you haven't left the dorm except to snag meals, and classes haven't started yet, and... and this is your life until the first-grade check comes in._

_You don't want him to hang up, and you certainly don't want to wait another two weeks for when he'll call again, even though you know you're not interesting and he doesn't have the time to listen to you prattle on about nothing and it's selfish to want that kind of attention but--_

_"Little bird?" he asks._

_"Daddy?"_

_You'd welcome any topic to keep him on the line, honestly._

_"How was the driving test?"_

_Anything but that, fuck._

_"Lilith? You took it yesterday, didn't you?"_

_You could be out of the country in less than three hours. Had too many connections in most of Europe, it would have to be somewhere south. You could do south._

_"Yes sir." you say, instead of running to an airport._

_"And?"_

_"I..." You failed, miserably. Worse than miserably. "I don't want to talk about it."_

_The receiver beeps as he hangs up, and you slump forward, head in your hands. Fuck._

******************

Lily wakes up slowly, blinking at the ceiling. 

Nero didn't stir beside her, arm dutifully slung over her waist and comfortable, and she tried to settle back into him. No use in getting up now, couldn't be later than four. 

The beep of the receiver rang in her ears. 

It was easy to ignore at first, but the longer she laid still, the worse it got, and she eventually had to give up. She was awake. 

Though a wonderfully tactile (read; _cuddly_ ) sleeper, it was never difficult to wiggle away from her husband. He whined a bit but rolled onto his side when she left, rummaging around the bedside dresser.

_Note to self ( or nero if you're snooping) #3129: bump app w dr A to Thurs-- also add cream cheese frosting to g list._

Satisfied with the note, Lily slipped on a robe and padded out of the room. 

She padded back into the room immediately, scooping up Colonel Bussiness from the foot of the bed and exited again, kissing the top of his head. He mewed sadly in protest, but the old-timer was well used to waking at odd hours for her anxiety. 

Kitty in arms, Lily moved around the house slowly, trying to ease her nerves. The Colonel pressed under his chin, doing his part, but a room by room check was usually best. 

Bathroom, check.

Guest bed, check.

Laundry room, check. 

Peony's room, no Peony, check.

No Peony. 

Colonel Business started purring, rubbing his head over his chest to combat the massive rise in heartbeat-- but it didn't matter what the fucking cat was doing where was her--

Sleepover. 

She was at a sleepover, it's fine. Calm down, it's fine.

Lily couldn't calm down, hands shaking as she clung onto her little Colonel. She needed to sit down. 

The living room was perilous at the best of times, toys and plush strewn about at random; making for tricky navigation in the dark, but she managed. Her phone was quickly snatched off the ottoman, and it's speed dial jabbed. 

The song of the rings made her head ache, but he answered after two. 

"Lily?"

"Dad?"

He laughed a little, and the sound... Her fingers curled into Colonel Business. A beat of silence passed before she could practically hear him switch to concern.

"What are you doing up? Little late isn't it?"

She could hear him take a deep breath in, and she took one to match.

"I should be asking you why you're up, old man. You get grumpy in the mornings." She said, breathing out. 

"Pretty sure I don't have to justify shit to you, kid."

" _Already_ getting grumpy then, wow."

He laughed again, and she followed suit, even if she was feeling low on breath. 

Big one in. 

"Guess what?"

"Hm?"

"Very first sleepover is tonight."

"At your house?"

"God, no. Peony is spending the night with some other kids at her friend Alex's."

"Is it a birthday or something?" he asked.

"I don't think so, just... A thing that friends do, I guess."

"Weird."

Deep one out. The Colonel mewed again, settling properly into her lap.

"R-really weird."

"...It's her first night out of the house?"

"Mhm."

"...Is that why you're up?"

Deep breath in. 

"Sorta... I guess. I mean, it's making me anxious, I can feel it and-- and that's normal I think--"

"Breathe, Lily."

Deep breath out. 

"You're okay."

"I know." 

She sat in silence for a while, focused on breathing. Raiden sat quietly with her, comfortable. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, because he always asked. 

Colonel Business purred in her lap, and Lily let go of another breath. 

"Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask me about the title, I dare you. I double dare you.


	25. Like (Like) Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Common ground, of a sorts.

"Long way to travel for a talk with me."

Lilith glanced back at her companion, lips pursing slightly before looking away again. 

"You were the one that said you wanted more art in our outings, can't say I'm following." she said evenly, head tilted slightly. 

Knight stepped up to stand beside her, looking at the painting as well. The birth of Venus. The canvas was smaller than he thought it'd be, and Venus herself seemed so much _less_ than Lilith had hoped. 

"I'm not asking you to follow, I'm asking you to lead," Knight said, tilting his head to mirror her. "Or, trying to expedite your leading anyway. I can tell you don't like it here."

"If the plaque hadn't told me, I wouldn't know this one featured a goddess at all. She looks so simple."

"There's beauty in that."

"Almost identical to the women around her, really."

"I like it. Divinity not needing to prove itself." Knight said, tilting his head the other way. After a moment, he gently nudged Lilith, and she sighed, tilting to match him. "Just allowing itself to exist, almost equal to those who created it."

Lilith said nothing, just sighed. The new angle didn't make her any more holy, but the colors were more bearable this way. Venus didn't seem to care one way or the other. 

To her dread, White Knight shifted back on his heels, a sure sign he wanted longer on this one. 

"We can go back to the abstract section if you'd like."

"I didn't say anything." she bit back, _not_ wanting to go back to the abstract section in the slightest. 

He quirked a small smile, and she scrunched her nose slightly, slipping off. 

It only took a few minutes for her to return, but he was through with the painting anyway, and ready to move when she did. 

"Hello handsome, now when did you get here." she asked, sipping her glass. He'd at least kept the attire he arrived in, they were matching tonight. "Why the change?"

"I heard in passing that the museum managed to get Chateau d’Yquem for this event, and since you were headed that way anyhow I just hoped--"

She shushed him by producing another full glass from behind her back, and he immediately accepted the offering with a smile. 

"Go slow on that, it's one glass per patron."

"You got two?" He asked, without really asking. She was a very persuasive woman. 

They moseyed together for a while, comfortable and quiet. 

"Can we sit down somewhere?"

She didn't need to, not from the alcohol and certainly not from her heels, something they were both keenly aware of. He obliged anyway. 

"Knight?" she asked.

"Mhm?"

"You and Jack."

He took another sip of his glass, looking to the painting directly in front of their chosen bench. Ophelia. How annoyingly appropriate. 

"Me and Jack."

She took another sip as well, trying to find the words. As her friend, Knight had evolved a sort of specialized telepathy for her to keep up, and she for him, but the whole problem revolved around leaving things unspoken. 

She'd need to force it out; god knew he wouldn't. 

"Why haven't you-- Why _didn't_ you--" 

"I don't know."

"I did it for you."

"Clarity, please, Mrs. Diamond."

"When I was... Gone. I didn't wear my ring, Knight." 

He could say nothing. She continued.

"Every time I would go to sleep, I'd wake up with it on-- and every time I _chose_ to take it off. It wasn't... I love my husband."

He bit his lip softly, a tell he'd yet to correct in this form, as she'd yet to tell him about it. Too handy to just throw away like that.

"But I'm not stupid, Knight. I was _dead_. Even when we built-- ah, _me_ , I didn't let it stay on my finger, and I honestly didn't like _him_ wearing his, and you didn't do a fucking thing about it, did you?" 

"You wanted him to move on?"

" _No._ " she quickly snapped, just a tad too loud. No one glanced their way, but she was silent for a long, scolded few seconds anyway. "No, I didn't. I wanted him to... I don't know what I wanted. Am I glad you were there for him? Of course. I don't think he would have made it without your support Knight, but you're not stupid either, are you?" 

He wasn't.

"Exactly. So why didn't you-- after he was done grieving-- do _anything_ about it? Not like I was in your way, and in a weird way you had my blessing. I wanted him to be happy." 

They both stared ahead, and Ophelia looked through them. Though far from art aficionados, they both felt the appropriate way when looking at her, for different reasons. How tragic, how unnecessary. Knight looked at the gentle curve of her face, her sad eyes, and the way her hair haloed in the surrounding water. Lilith looked at the river. How tragic indeed.

"You're not some... _Obstacle,_ Lilith. And he wasn't the only one grieving. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I wanted you--"

"Don't make this about me."

"I'm not!"

"You are, though. Regardless of the insecurity of the week I develop regarding the situation, this is about you and him. You didn't do anything while I was gone, and you haven't done anything now that I'm back. Do you not _want_ \--"

 _"I do."_ he said, surprising the both of them with the strength of his voice. Lilith looked down into her glass, nodding. "I do, Lilith. I want him happy too, and if I could-- If he'd let me--"

"You know he would."

"You would too?" he asked, not needing an answer. Of course she'd let him. 

"Is this emboldening you at all?" she asked, needing an answer. She'd be truly sorted out when they were, honestly. Almost annoyance, full of fondness, ugh, _boys._ "Now that we've...?"

He turned his head to her, a gently apologetic smile creeping onto his face. She groaned, rubbing at her temple. Of course not. 

"Thank you, though."

"You're ridiculous."

"You're worse." he said, truly smiling now. She wasn't actually mad, relief settling into her shoulders into a gentle slump. They'd have to talk again later, properly, but for now things were good enough. 

He set his head on her shoulder, looking back to Ophelia as he took another slow sip. How tragic, how unnecessary. 

Lilith tilted her head to one side, resting on him in turn as she looked back as well. She hummed. 

"How lovely."

He snorted a soft laugh, and stretched to gently tink their glasses together in a toast. Ophelia had blue eyes too. How lovely indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lilith teased Knight relentlessly in the unseen first half. Does this museum know you? Should we not go? Will you be able to contain yourself? They have a jewel exhibit you know, not that it's open for this event. No slipping off then, or I'm calling Jack on you :)


	26. Oral History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh. Warning for gross shit. Like a lot of gross shit, other kinds of gross shit, then more gross shit.

"You'd be willing to do that for me, sir?" you ask, hopeful despite yourself. 

Eden smiles at you, and while there's something off about him, you smile back. You want to settle down in a department, you _want_ to start working. Almost six months they've been idling you, if he's willing to help--

"As a favor, of course." 

You freeze. 

Of course there are stipulations, you _expected_ stipulations. This place is just as political as White Sales, but you've been trained to handle it. There's just something in his tone. 

Your stomach drops. 

"... I don't want it that bad," You say carefully, suddenly feeling smaller than you are. You come up eye to eye with him, but still wince when he raises an eyebrow. "R-respectfully, sir"

He cocks his head to the side, laughing at you just a bit. You don't feel like you're being silly, but he places a hand on your shoulder, and you'd like to be reassured. 

"Oh, Lilith, I can understand how the timing of this conversation might be a bit scary--"

"I'm _never_ said I was scared."

"--But the actual request is quite innocent. Hackles down."

You do not move. He doesn't move his hand off of you. 

You don't know what to do because he's not moving away; you still need to finish arranging the sample lab for Dr. Martin tonight and you don't want him touching you and you could have just ignored his email, it's almost 4 in the morning and it most certainly gave him the wrong idea when you all but ran up here because he's the only one who's _nice_ to you in this place as of now and--

And he's kissing you. 

He takes his time, and you don't do a thing about it, frozen and wide-eyed. 

He frowns when he pulls away (you really don't know how long it takes him to pull away), saying nothing. 

What is there to say. 

He dismisses you, and though you don't hear it through whatever kind of shock you're in, you wander out of his office anyway, the door shutting behind you with a resolute _click._

_Fuck._

**_*************_ **

You quickly put up a hand, blocking your companion from-- whatever the hell he thinks he's doing. 

"...Thomas?" you ask.

"O-oh, Lilith I'm sorry, I should have asked, right?"

"I'm sorry?" you say, still not quite following.

"Right, right, of course, I _am_ sorry for that." Thomas says, like the remarkably thick man you know him to be when flustered. 

You're settled in his cars passenger seat, getting exponentially more tired with every passing second. He drove you home after dinner, you two said your usual pleasantries, but then he leaned in. _That_ was not the usual. 

You blink at him, honestly lost, and his shy smile returns in tiny degrees. 

"Lilith," He asks, hand reaching out to gently take yours. "May I kiss you?"

Oh. 

_Oh,_ he thought-- Oh. 

He assumed you were on a date. You spoke mainly of office politics and fluctuations in the yearly budget throughout the night, and you were _painfully_ bored the entire time, as you'd assumed he's been as well. He had a pretty shitty definition of a good date if tonight was his standard, you go out with him every Friday and it's always about the same and...

Well, shit. 

You two were dating. 

You're not opposed to the idea, it just wasn't something you'd really considered. 

"Ah..." you say, at a loss. Things were moving very quickly. You glance to Thomas, and now that you know what you're looking at, easily identify the affection in his gaze. You two have been going to dinner for almost two months now. Mother fucker. "... You can kiss my cheek."

He lights up, leaning over to gently place a kiss on your cheekbone. 

It's not awful. 

"I'll see you on Monday." You say, quickly crawling out of the car and shutting the door behind you. 

The back of your throat burns. 

**_*************_ **

"Miss White?" 

Another quarter and you'll go under, you need to take a serious look at your distribution. 

The sound of the door clicking open seems to echo through your less-than decorated office. You have bigger things to pay attention to. 

You can't afford to pull back on your side project now, it's been doing far to well to start starving now. Rearranging assets is a pain and a half, but you're willing to pull some overtime if it means you don't have to beg Davis for a few more thousand.

"Lilith?"

The thought alone puts a rancid taste in your mouth. 

You will _not_ beg to that man, you don't have a doubt he'd get off on it more than your mouth on him, and it's about twice as humiliating at this point. 

Something brushes your arm, and you almost jump out of your skin.

"Fuck! Glovern, do _not_ just come in here unannounced!"

Angela, well used to you, doesn't seem deterred. 

"I did knock for, oh I don't know, about a minute solid." She says, draping herself across your shoulders like an overgrown cat. 

The pressure almosts feels nice, but she just _has_ to take it a step further, as she always does, and nip at your neck. You don't have time to play the game tonight, and try shrugging her off. 

She doesn't move an inch.

"It's time to leave, pretty girl."

"Angela, I'm a little too busy tonight, please."

Her hands snake up to cover your eyes, grip like a vice.

"What time is it?" she asks, like it will prove anything. 

You take a moment to think.

"Around 11."

Her hands drop away from your face, now going to your shoulders, pressing in hard circles. You glance at the time on your computer and wince. 3:19. She pops her lipgloss in your ear, and you shudder.

"Nope. You lose this round, so that means you're shutting down whatever this is--"

"It doesn't mean _anything,_ Angela, some of us care about our job. You're free to go anytime you please but I will _not_ be leaving until--"

A hand that you'd previously disregarded in your hair (as she usually likes playing with it) suddenly _yanks_ , and you jerk your head up, ready for a fight but she's. 

Well. 

She's kissing you, and you're not sure what to do with yourself. This has never been part of your game, even if you two usually ended up... ah. Close. 

You think you like it. 

She wears pink gloss that tastes like candy and she's remarkably warm-- especially when she moves to sit on the arm of your chair, pressing closer, and one hand comes up to cup your jaw and all of the sudden _you're_ kissing _her_ too, hand curling in the back of her sweater and bracing on her lower back, trying to pull her into your lap.

She tugs again on your hair, and it pulls you away from the kiss and you positively _whine_ with the loss, mortifying yourself. Great. She laughs softly and comes back, not as deep, not as long or as _anything_ as you want, but it's something. 

"My place?" she asks, far too proud of herself.

You nod immediately anyway, letting her pull you up and out of your chair because her mouth is back on yours. 

A girl could get used to this.

**_*************_ **

Your desk is fucking disgusting. 

Not in the project-haul kind of way, you've gotten used to clutter these past few months, but absolutely _disgusting._

"We're never doing that again," you say, because as you gently prop yourself there's a sick squelching between your thighs and that's _horrific._ " _Adam,_ up _."_

The man still half on top of you just groans, squeezing your hips softly. It jostles you again, and you swear to god you're going to be sick (It's getting cold and what's smeared on you feels tacky and-- just-- _ew_ ) 

"Already having regrets?" he asked after a moment, trying to be cheeky. You honestly are. 

"Please put your dick away and get out of my office."

He kisses you. 

You don't know what to do, so you don't do anything, even if he tastes disgusting. 

You turn your head after the spearmint gets to you, frowning when he doesn't take the hint and begins nibbling on your neck.

 _"Adam"_ you try again. 

"I really like you." he says, and it knocks the wind out of you for a few beats. He's proven himself talented, in that way. 

"...That's unfortunate."

He laughs, now helping you up.

"You don't need to tell me, Princess. I'm fully aware."

You could leave it alone. 

"And what the fuck does that mean?" you ask anyway, eyes narrow. 

"What, you don't know?" he starts, almost innocent. You raise an eyebrow, less than patient. "Please understand you _did_ ask, Lilith. Just seem a little too... Hm. Let's say... You're a very pretty woman, in a very powerful place in the company, and it honestly _astounds_ me how much you've accomplished."

You blink. He continues.

"Because you're an honest to god nightmare to work with Lilith. Your daddy issues spill over onto anyone who gets within 10 feet of you, you're a brat, from what I've been able to observe you've got a _nasty_ habit of talking down to your betters and I can only assume that's the narcissism, for a 'problem solver' your conflict resolution skills are piss poor at--"

You kiss him. 

You're going to absolutely rip this man to shreds, but you really like him too. _Honesty_ counts for a lot. 

**_*************_ **

"Okay okay so... So... Fuck, Lilith give me the question again."

"First kiss, answer or drink."

"I don't have a... Wait like the first real one?"

"What the fuck does that mean?" you ask, laughing. "Yes-- real one only. Real ones, you have to give me two."

"Fuck off, why?"

"Robot and when you got the mouth."

Queensly peels himself off the counter, picking up the shot you readied. 

"Okay. You're not going to like this but I was _super_ drunk for the first robotic one. Don't remember the guy."

You frown, exaggerated and tipsy. 

"Give me a description."

"You wouldn't know him."

"Give me a description or drink!" You all but shout, hip checking him. He stumbles, grumbling, but does concede. 

"Alright like... Tall, brown hair... Uh..." You boo at him. Sounds like every guy in existence, no creativity. He swats you, continuing. "I was drunk! He had like a-- like a bird tat or something on his neck, but that's all I got okay?"

"And the first one with your mouth?"

He looks thoughtful, tongue swiping across his lower lip.

"Nope."

He takes the shot, and you burst out laughing. 

After you're able to settle down (It takes an embarrassingly long time--but it's late. You're having fun.) Queensly hands you the shot he made. 

"Back at you, first kiss, let's hear it, nerd."

The room is swaying, you can't afford this round, so you answer honestly.

"Was my boss back at Starlight. Was when I was like..." you laugh a bit. "I was like 19, fuck. Was a total nerd."

Queensly takes a moment, still. Then, 

"'S kind of fucked."

"It is." you agree, and end up taking the shot anyway. 

You can hear Ace yelling in the living room. You grin, grabbing the next shot and carrying it with you. 

Trying to carry it with you, you eat shit almost immediately. Well damn.

You don't... You don't know what to do. Shit. What time is it.

"It's like-- It's like 2 and already you're on the ground. Wow."

"S'fuck... It's your turn?"

"What?" he asks, sinking to the ground in the kitchen. You wave to him. He waves back. 

"It's your turn."

He grabs the bottle from the counter, nodding. 

" _So_. You and Dante--"

He immediately begins chugging, and you lose your shit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End scene is what one of the Heros walks in on. Queensly gets a weird look, Lilith gets a kiss.


	27. Needling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So! Once again I astound myself! What time did I say I wanted to work on my personal projects? 1:30 this afternoon. When did I open my laptop? Around 11. Jeez.

"I think you're guessing, Little Bird."

Lilith gasps, looking up at her father. 

"I do _not_ guess." she said, trying to sound offended. As she was still tucked snugly to his chest, some of the effect was lost. 

"Lond division is tricky," he said, shifting his hold on her as they rounded another corner of the park. "It's fine to need longer to think."

"I _don't._ " 

Jamison stalled in front of the play area, glancing at his daughter. She looked at him. He raised a brow, and Lilith simply laid her head down. Long week, she wasn't particularly interested in getting down-- it was her mother's request the both of them get some outside time. He nodded and continued to stroll.

"128 divided by 11."

"11," she answered immediately.

"Lilith. 11 times 11, you're better than this."

"That's... That's 121."

"So how does it make 128?" 

"Well, it's not 12!"

"So you gave me a wrong answer just because you don't know?" he asked. Lilith had nothing to say to that. "I'd rather you just ask, Baby bird."

She huffed, setting her chin over his shoulder to look over the park behind them. The playground was a bright, colorful blur, but the surrounding trees were pretty at least. She decided green was her favorite color and was about to inform her father of the development, when--

"Puppy!"

Jamison turned just in time for the dog to try hopping up onto his chest. The man startled, shifting his daughter higher up, countering her efforts to reach down and pet the thing. It looked like it had very soft ears, and it wasn't growling or barking or anything mean so--

"Lilith, we do _not_ touch strange animals, please--"

The dog hopped up again, tail wagging happily. Someone far off called out, heading their way, little more than a blur on the horizon. It hopped up again, and for whatever reason, Jamison wasn't quite able to balance himself correctly this time. 

It wasn't a big fall by any means, and onto grass no less, but Lilith slammed into concrete. 

Blood pooled under her cheek, though it was hardly an issue when less than three feet away, Jamison White lay motionless. 

What was left of him, really. Temper temper, hers had caved in the majority of his skull. His head lolled to face her, and there wasn't a gaze to flinch from (eyes were such, pulpy, delicate things, and didn't stand a chance against her) she did anyway. 

"Awful mess you made, Little bird, I sincerely hope it was worth it," she said for him. The state his jaw was in, not like he could manage. 

"It's not _my_ blood, now is it?" she asked, feeling petulant as soon as it left her. He didn't dignify it with a response, bleeding in silence for a long few minutes. The growing puddle reached her ribs now, muddling with her own. 

"Do you feel better?" he asked, insincerely. He was trying to be cruel, get a last bite in before she set to work erasing him. "Did you get it out of your system, Lilith?"

"This is my dream, you know."

"Answer me, please."

She took a deep breath, sighing afterward. 

"You're being vague, Daddy."

"That's your fault, isn't it?" he asked, and despite herself, she laughed. It sort of was. She cleared her throat, and he continued. "I wanted to know if you felt better."

"Better?" She asked.

"Mhm. Better."

"...Well, my father did just die. I can't say I feel _good."_

Something prickled along her spine, and her mouth moved without permission.

"There's no need to lie-- it _felt_ good, didn't it? At least a little? Beyond whatever vindication you convinced yourself you deserve; you were on top of me, you felt my last breath, you're _still_ coated in gore, felt my nose break, then the jaw, then a spiral fracture along the upper left eye socket that deepened to the frontal lobe-- I'm positive you felt the first crack of my skull on the concrete and it was just _good_ , hm? Owe me this at the very least, I want you to say just how much--"

Lilith slapped a hand over her mouth, effectively shutting her father up-- she didn't owe him _shit._ She didn't-- She wasn't like him, not like that.

He hummed behind her hand, disappointed. 

"Can you behave yourself and just _clarify_ , Daddy?" She asked quietly, hand still hovering near her lips in case he got rambunctious again. "You're in _my_ head, could at least throw me this bone."

He sighed. She shifted closer, hesitantly wrapping an arm over the corpse. Blood reached her hip. 

" _I'm_ the problem?" he asked.

"Past tense, Daddy. You're dead."

"Right, thank you Little bird. I _was_ the problem?" Lilith said nothing. "I was _your_ problem."

Still, she said nothing. 

"As you so wonderfully reminded the both of us, I'm dead, Lilith. You killed me, with no small amount of prejudice or joy--" She shot him a warning look, and he swiftly moved along "So. Problem solved."

"Problem solved." Lilith echoed.

"What happens when you're not any better? I'm dead Baby girl, hardly fucking up your life anymore. For what I _might have_ done in the past-- well. You avenged yourself _thoroughly_ there too. It'd be pathetic to keep using it as an excuse for your..." he barked out a laugh from her throat.

"This is in _my_ head," Lilith said again, protesting. All the fucking good it did her. 

"That just proves my point, doesn't it? You never needed me to be broken, Baby bird. Made things easier, I'll admit to trying to piece you into something useable, but it's not my fault you are how you are, not really. You'll see that, eventually."

"This is _my_ fucking head, just-- tell me you love me, or something. I don't want to come back here."

"You wouldn't believe me if I did. Shocking, I know."

Son of a bitch. 

Now resting close to him, blood soaked into the suede of her boots. She squeezed him softly. 

"This was pointless, then. Feel worse."

"When have you ever had a dream that made you feel better? Honestly, if you had that kind of power you'd be a leftist, be thankful."

She laughed again. He was dead serious, but it sounded silly in her voice.

The pool of blood finally reached an appropriate size for her to sink into, and the rest of her brief time unconscious felt like drowning. 

****************

Lilith tasted copper when she woke. 

Highly acidic, far too heavy, and completely unresponsive to the water she kept by her bedside. Even knowing it was psychosomatic, she had to at least try. 

She didn't want to leave her room, having managed to avoid it for roughly four days now. Possibly five. Four felt right, though. 

But she could never live with the taste, and after checking the time to make sure no one would be out, she rose to leave. 

As predicted, no was was out, and there wasn't a single light on. If she was quick, Arrow wouldn't stir on the couch. She froze in the middle of the common area, despite this.

It was looking at her. 

The medical bay had semi-transparent walls, for safety. And, clear as day (clear as #3 tint frost, to be exact) it sat up straight on the medical cot, looking at her. She could ignore it. F had been taking care of primary medical care for it, Lilith having been out of commission for the past four (maybe five) days. She was still out of commission. 

She wondered closer anyway, pressing the panel for access. 

The frosted glass hadn't been lying, and as the door slides open she can see it clearly now. 

It stares at her, and she stares back at it. 

Lilith killed him for it. 

No, not really. She killed him for herself. 

Its heart rate is elevated (expected in Lilith's presence), but so is blood pressure. She sighs as she approaches, grabbing the nearby medical tray. 

Its eyes get wider the closer she draws, saving Lilith the trouble of checking over its chart. Pupils are blown wide and shaky, most likely on several doses of hydrocodone. Wouldn't be putting up a fight with her tonight at least. 

"Raiden said he killed him." it says, through the drugs and the pain.

What a childish thing to think.

Tears well up in its eyes, and she can't find it in herself to care. Not Liliths fault the parasite decided to tag along into her brain. Should know better by now. 

"And you believed him, didn't you?"

Open, honest, and on enough drugs to be beyond caring, it hiccups, tears spilling. Lilith lays it down with two quick moves, not pleased to be touching it, and snags the IV in its arm. 

Morphine had the side effect of making her drowsy, likely why it was avoided in the initial prescription. 2 milligrams should both bring down its blood pressure and put it back to sleep, taking care of the elevated heart rate. Should keep it out of her head to boot, though that was just speculation.

It whined, squirming and crying when she began drawing it into the needle, though she couldn't fathom why. 

"Don't tell me you're still afraid of needles? Got over that when we were what? Nine?" She asked, pinning down the arm she needed for injection. "No use squirming, you know this is for the best." 

It clearly proved it did _not_ know that, chocking on a sob as she plunged the morphine. Lilith dealt with a few more minutes of petulance before it kicked in properly, making it sink back into the cot, eyes drowsy, and glossed over. There. All better.

"Did _that_ feel good, baby bird?" Jamison asked, and Lilith snarled. They were supposed to be done for the night. She turned on her heel and quickly marched out of the medical bay, gritting her teeth. He was laughing at her, and she didn't know why. 

She didn't feel better in the slightest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow Lilith, be careful, the audience just might think you hate yourself. Get it?


	28. Do Your Worst (Sweetheart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha fun bonding time :)

Blood tastes like salt and copper and something new, tangy, and honestly a little gross. He smiles with red-stained teeth, and Lilith blows him a kiss from the other side of the mat. 

"Have to be a little quicker than _that_ ," She says, shoulders relaxed but hands flexing by her side. "I thought you'd be a little lighter on your feet, having just lost about a ton 'n a half."

Ace spits lazily at her for that, and she grins.

"When did you get so _mouthy_ in a fight? Hasn't been long since I've been out with you in the field." He said, starting to circle again. She follows in step with him. 

"That's all business, Ace, and this is _fun._ Didn't think I'd have to spell that out for you." She's lunging almost before she's finished speaking, for all the good it does her. He easily sidesteps and brings his elbow down hard on the nape of her neck, skirting away from her clumsy, flailing attempt to catch his legs. 

Back to circling, now; arms up and ready.

"Just for fun, huh?" he asked, grinning. "Is that why you're phoning it in?"

Lotta girls he knew had a signature 'come hither' look, and Lilith was no exception. Admittedly, hers was a little less bedroom eyes and a lot more 'I can't _wait_ to hit you', excited and determined-- but Ace was more likely to come for hers anyway. Guess that made them both a little weird. 

She was on the offensive, trying out his usual spots. 

Dodge, block, dodge-- _swing_ \-- Lilith almost always left herself open on her hook. She took the hit on her jaw with only a grunt of acknowledgment and immediately used the proximity to slam a fist into his stomach, making him wheeze. 

The next swing was wide, and in theory easy to dodge, but _jesus_ the woman wasn't pulling her punches; he might learn what it felt like to barf soon. Despite best efforts, she still managed to get a glancing blow under his chin. 

"As my healthcare professional--" Block, swing, try and get her off balance. "Can you answer a few questions for me?"

She lands a mean one on his lower ribs.

"Of course Ace, how can I help you?"

Ace finally trips her up and wastes no time socking her in the temple as she stumbles. He tries a second time but she catches his wrist, so what's a man to do _but_ backhand the good doctor with his left. 

"Is it possible to vomit on an empty stomach?" he asked, no longer quite as queasy from her hit but still curious. "I haven't eaten anything since I've--"

She kicks him to break the hold, though she does him a courtesy and aims for the hip. 

"Very! You'd just be regurgitating stomach acid of course," Lilith says, not unkindly. The momentum of her kick spun him slightly, and she uses his turned back gets a tearing grip in his hair, yanking him back. "Trauma to the abdomen doesn't always register as an outward attack, and as such your digestive system--"

She's holding him in almost a backbend, and he's forced to cling to her arm or be deposited on the floor. Ace does _not_ want on the floor, she was a pain to wrestle. 

"That is, the stomach, intestines, appendix, liver, etcetera--" she punctuates herself with a hand running across his middle, feather-light. "Respond as they would to an internal threat, which is just to flush the whole system. Even if there's nothing to purge, which can lead to dry heaving and possible esophagus damage if you don't drink water, watch out for that."

Always looking out for his best interests, that one. 

Ace kicked out blindly behind him, and was decently surprised when he actually managed to topple her. The grip in his hair vanished, and he borrowed her momentum to land on top in a clumsy body slam. Not his best work, but effective, and he was quick to get up and away. There would be absolutely _no_ wrestling today. 

"That makes sense. Tell me about bruises."

She stood quickly, and they fell into stance yet again. This time though, she was frowning softly. 

"You know what bruises are."

"Obviously. Broken blood vessels underneath the skin, caused by--"

"Caused by blunt force trauma, yes yes gold star-- you're trying to get me talking."

Ace laughed and immediately had to duck under a swing. 

"Yes and no." he said, bringing up a knee into her stomach. She managed to get a grip on his jaw and _squeezed_ , lip ticking up into a snarl.

"You know I don't like vague answers, Spades."

"And maybe _I_ just like hearing you talk."

A happy glint replaced annoyance in her eyes, and Ace took about a half-second to enjoy it before punching her in one.

Lilith laughed as she stumbled back, and came back on the offense with a grin Ace couldn't help but match. 

Twenty more minutes and maybe a combined pint of spattered blood between them, they both lay flat on their backs, giggling in between pants. 

"Do you feel more ' _settled'_ in this body yet? Or do I have to actually break something of yours, Hero?"

"I think you already broke my nose..." he replied, scrunching it up. Doing so felt more painful than it reasonably should. 

"You're not a medical doctor Ace and you've had a nose _to_ break for less than 12 hours, I doubt you'd be able to tell." Lilith said, and he lazily swatted at her. Rude.

"Then look at me, _Doc_ , and see for yourself."

He rolled his head to face her. 

She rolled her head to face him. 

Ace looked at her for a long moment as she studied him in turn, both beat to shit and bloody. He could feel himself get warm in the face, like this. Her eyes skittered away. 

"Ace?" Lilith said quietly, a gentle smile creeping onto her face.

"Mh?" He said softly back, still staring. 

Lilith shoved him, catching about half a dozen bruises as she did, and began laughing.

"Your nose is definitely broken."

He didn't mind enough to wince, and laughed with her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your love takes its form as wings bound to the heart, uplifting  
> My love is blood on knuckles, grounding.


	29. Unconventional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha.

"Can you help me?"

Lilith stalled despite herself, glancing down. A child had a hand in her dress, blinking up at her. 

She looked back at the door. Maybe 150 feet. She was late as is. She felt another tug on her dress, and sighed. Right. Dr. Lilith White-Diamond was late for a meet up with her boyfriend, but Hills was still on duty in a warzone. 

"That depends," she says lightly, trying to pull her dress away. "I'm not the most helpful person here."

They don't seem too perturbed, but didn't let go of her. Small thing, she was having trouble looking down to their face-- especially since they stood so close to her legs. 

"But I know who you are, and that counts for something."

Cryptic, but true enough. 

Lilith tried backing up to look at them, but they stayed too close. She tried again, for the same result; to avoid getting frustrated, she simply picked them up. They seemed startled at first but didn't try and complain over her. 

"That's an odd thing to tell a person." she said, "If you weren't so small I might take it as a threat, then where would we be."

"You picked me up?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I think I'm lost."

"You think you're lost or are you lost?"

Wrong move, something close to anxiety crossed the kids' face, eyes darting around, and they seemed to shrink into her. 

"I'm-- I know I'm lost I was supposed to meet with my mom outside the panel hall after it was done but it ended early and I tried to find her room but I think I took the wrong stairs and then all the people came back out and--"

Lilith held up a hand. They stopped in the nick of time, before tears showed up on the scene, thank god. 

"I have good and bad news."

They sniffled. 

"Bad news first."

"I dislike helping strangers, as a rule. Always ends poorly for me."

Another look of panic came over their little face, but she was quick to distract them with an offered hand. Timidly, they took it. 

"My name is Mrs. Hill."

"I'm Liam." They said quietly. "...There's still good news?"

Lilith nodded, settling Liam more comfortably on her hip.

"The good news is that in the losest terms we're not strangers anymore. I can spare a few minutes and take you down to security."

"But my mom--"

"Could be anywhere. Unless you remember what panel hall she was in? Or what hall you were in, if she's waiting there?" she asked sternly, and Liam didn't have a response for her. "Mhm. Security is very good at finding people, and they'll know what to do. She might even be _there_ waiting for you."

They seemed to follow, and after she was done explaining, nodded lamely. Lilith adjusted them again, and set off, slipping out of the main convention halls in favor of the backway. Less a chance they'd spot Liams mother on the way down, but truthfully, even Liam was a little much for her right now. Panels were draining, and she was only getting later. 

"You're an author?" Liam asks, though they're looking around at the stark gray hallway. 

"I'm a robot."

"And I'm eight, c'mon Mrs. Hill, you know what I meant." 

"... Sometimes. I was 15 minutes ago for the panel, but now I'm done and would like to leave. Too many questions from strangers isn't good for my health. Or strangers collective healths."

"Then it's good we're not strangers, right?"

...

Cocky little thing. 

She didn't have anything to say to that, or to the following grin, busy reading the out of order sign on the elevator. Stairs it was, then. 

"You're Heaven Hill? I really like your book!"

"I dislike vague statements, Liam, almost more than strangers, please. I have a lot of books." A pause, as she gripped the staircase handle. "You're eight?"

"Mhm."

"...That's pretty weird, Liam."

"What? I am though!"

"Which book did you say you liked?" she asked carefully. 

"Canines and Such."

She pulled a face. Of course. Liam laughed a little at the way her face immediately scrunched; but was polite enough to stifle themself as they set off down the stairs. 

"I like scary books a lot!" They said happily "And yours is my favorite! Your panel was over Heavy Hitters though, and Mom won't let me read those yet so I went to one down the hall about this other series I like called Haunted and Hunted--"

"Liam?" Lilith interrupted. 

"Huh?"

"I really don't care, bud."

They were quiet for all of five stairs. 

"Mrs. Hill?" they asked.

Lilith grunted, most of her focus on the stairs. Certain design elements were cumbersome, but she would _not_ be eating crow. Just had to take more care. 

"Did Maria really get eaten in the end?"

"How poor is your reading comprehension?"

Liam pouted. 

"Well-- My big sister said the thing in the doghouse was a metaphor, and I don't really think the family would eat her, because of what Daddy said in like chapter 8? To Mom?"

"Metaphors eat people all the time."

"What?"

"You're eight. I'm a robot. Things are allowed to be multifaceted, Liam, especially if they're hungry."

"... So the thing _did_ eat her?"

Lilith paused for a moment, trying to remember the quote they mentioned. 

"... 'I feel my heart swell every time I see her, I feel my love desperate to escape from behind my ribs and engulf my only daughter.' That one?"

Liam nodded happily, and Lilith continued walking. 

"You think that proves it, then?" she asks.

"Doesn't it?" they return. "The new family is _super_ weird, but they love Maria a lot, they wouldn't eat her."

"If you say so."

"... You don't say so, Mrs. Hill?"

"It's not about what I think anymore, the books already published. But-- Loving someone doesn't and has never stopped anyone from being hungry. The thing in the doghouse is hungry, the family is hungry, Maria is hungry, in a way."

Liam chews on this for a long moment, before, "But they _love_ her."

"It's a scary book. You could have read--" Lilith desperately tries to think of another children's book for a few moments, frowning. "--The Magic Treehouse, or something, if you wanted a happy, easy ending. It's a scary book."

She pokes Liam in the forehead, trying to nail her point home. 

"Therefore, I don't have to make the ending easy. _Or_ answer questions about it, so stop. If you have another one, just think about what would make it worse."

The first floor, at last. She shifts them again in her arms before heading out into the main area, and by extension, into the crowd. Most gave her a decent berth, at least. 

The security booth was pitifully small for the event, but there was a guard ready to receive them. 

"This isn't mine." she said simply, as she let Liam down. A woman yelled their name, making Lilith wince from the proximity. Liam ran to her arms. Right. Good deed of the day done, at the cost of her timeliness. Better score her points when she was explaining the tardiness to her waiting company. 

She began to walk back off, only for a tug of her dress to stall her. Again. Lilith suppressed a groan. 

"Liam?" she said, hoping to convey just how drained she was getting. 

"Can I ask one more question?"

"Is it about the book?"

"Kind of?" They said with a small smile. Lilith let herself groan. Liam just laughed, and once their mother handed it down to them, passed a book up to her. "Can I have your signature?"

She snagged a pen from a guard, not needing to think for the inscription. 

_I'd like to ask that you don't share what I've told you. --Heaven J. Hill_

The book was snapped shut, then returned. Liam smiled up at her. 

"Don't get lost again kid, I'm off. Not every author has such a mild bite."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do they have fangs because you're afraid, or have they always had them? Do you have them? Are they nice because you're afraid? Is the thing in the doghouse scary because you're scared of dogs, or are you scared because this family has never, ever had a dog?


	30. Unfortunate, Considering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been wanting more soft things between these two, because? Alright, while the last month was the most dramatic/impactful, my words feel hollow when I say genuinely, they had a good relationship.
> 
> Francine's confidence is always bolstered when her boy is near, Charlie is more level headed and mindful with his girl on his arm.
> 
> There are downs, as is in every marriage, and ulterior motives if you look for them or care enough for detail (I do, I always do) and it looks kind of sinister, doesn't it? And I didn't intend for that. We all know how it ends, but it's tragic for a reason.
> 
> Most of their interactions weren't meant to be deeply psychoanalyzed like other characters of mine, even if as an author I add the layers, its meant to be Unfortunate, Considering.

"--But now really darling, you're joking? Been in the city that long and you haven't nosed around the _one_ attraction we got?"

Francine laughed, flushed a gentle pink as she leaned against the bar. As they went, the current company was charming enough, and hadn't gotten zozzled enough to try touching her yet-- impressive for the time of Friday night it was. She could keep him company until her wildcat showed up again. 

"For all the _history_ packed into that bell," she said, playing a pout "It's not a very _attractive_ attraction, is it? Never really had the want to is all."

"Keep giving this little place shows like tonight, soon it'll be a _damn_ attractive attraction."

She giggled, pushing her companion back playfully. With her ring hand. Nothing wrong with a flirt, so long as he knew where he stood with her. 

"Who needs a cocktail, with pretty boys like you around to feed my sweet tooth," she said, flashing her smile "But really, it's a miracle they keep lettin' me in here."

He quirked an eyebrow, and Francine leaned in as if to share a secret. He mirrored her with a grin, but she didn't feel the hand on her thigh was entirely necessary. Close and friendly didn't mean you got to touch-- boys constantly got it wrong, to her great chagrin. Still had a shot at backpedaling though, there was a chance he didn't see the ring when she flashed it.

"Think I just about broke the poor manager's heart when he found out I was a _Mrs._ Poor thing looked like a kicked puppy for weeks, 'n still won't talk to me proper."

Sometimes laying it out plain was the best move for everyone. Hate for the man to get embarrassed when Charlie (finally) chose to wander back. 

Said man leaned closer, to her great surprise, hand trailing up to her waist with him. 

"You'll find I don't mind _near_ that much, Dollface." he said. Francine blinked slowly. Hm. "You mentioned cocktails were your drink? Let me buy you one, and we can get to--"

"I don't drink." She said immediately, though truthfully one would be _delightful_ right about now. "Thank you-- really, but I actually--"

"Red, Babydoll, you know this jack?"

Had another man's grip not been on her, Francine would have melted. Over a decade they'd been together now, and Charlie still had an entrance that made her heart flutter. 

Current company dropped her waist like it was on fire, not that she was sparing him much attention anymore. Her boy had a _walk_ , and he sure took his time sauntering over. Cocky thing knew she liked it; worst mistake of her life was telling him so. 

"Just keeping me company after the show," She said, shrugging as her coat was draped over her shoulders. Charlie pressed a kiss to her temple as she continued. "Since _some_ mean thing never hangs around till I'm good and done."

Charlie cooed, as if she didn't have him tight by the tie, and kissed her again proper. A hand on her waist again, but his hand, and one up in her hair, and his tongue doing that unfair _thing_ of his that had her squirming on the barstool and--

"Think you have it in you to forgive me?"

Francine nods happily, beyond fussing. Current company forgotten, she accepts the offered hand and slides off her seat, snug on her husband's arm as they exit the club. 

"You phoned for a cab?" she asked.

He nodded, but she caught the blush, even in the dim streetlamp light. She blinked up to him, and it only got deeper. After three seconds of this, he caved. 

"Hailed it for a couple blocks away, at the Moon Rose?" he said sheepishly, and she could only laugh. 

"Why exactly did you do that?" she asked, grinning. "Did you forget which one we were in, Mr. I-don't- _need_ -notes-to-keep-your-gigs-straight? Hm? Did they finally get the best of you?"

Charlie puffed his cheeks, making her laugh again as they walked down the street. 

"Thought you could use the fresh air." he sniffed, and she pulled an exaggerated 'O' of shock. She _was_ usually a little tipsy after gigs, he was only being sweet. This time though, she'd finally made up her mind. 

"Nope!" she chirped, chest puffed. Almost 20 straight minutes of (semi)alone in a bar, and she'd turned down every offer. Her twenties collectively shuddered, but she was past them now. 

"So you were serious then with that thug? You don't drink now?"

"Mhm!"

"Just like that?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Not even with me if I ask?"

She smiled.

"Not even for you, handsome."

She wanted to tell him something. 

"You want to tell me something." he said, and she could feel herself glowing. Managed to snag a quick one, how could she not. 

"Well..." she began, tugging the two of them to a stop on the sidewalk. "You remember that talk we keep coming back to?"

He opened his mouth, and--

"No guessin', I'm being real serious young man."

\--Closed it again. Then, after a moment of thought. "You'll have to be a little more straight with me Red, pretty please? I'll be good."

"Charlie," she said, reaching up to cup his cheek. He turned to kiss her palm on instinct, soft and fond, as if she wasn't already smitten. "I'm not saying I'm _ready_ , really, but I'm not... Unsure, I suppose, anymore. I know what I want. Quittin' drinking _now_ so it's not a pain when we have that talk again and decide it's time for--"

Francine blinked, trailing off at her husband's expression. Despite herself, a little laugh slipped through. 

"Oh-- Baby there's no need to cry I'm not-- I don't think _right now_ is a good time to start tryin'--"

He kissed her quiet, then hoisted her up by the waist in a quick twirl. She laughed, trying to wipe at his face, but at least tried to press on. 

"Charlie--"

Another kiss. 

"I know Red, I'm hearing you, I am I just--"

One more.

"This is exciting! This is _exciting,_ Red, Babygirl, _Franny--_ "

And another one, this time with him dipping her back and low. The silly, sweet thing he was. But then, she liked silly 'n sweet. 

"And you're excited?" she asked when he let her get a breath in, arms thrown around him. 

"Could run to the moon and back."

She nodded, nuzzling up underneath his chin. He squeezed her, and for a moment, she let the moment be. Then--

"Good. Might have to use the energy to catch that car, the poor cabbie won't wait forever cowboy."

Francine shoved her husband backward, deftly hopped out of her shoes; then promptly began hauling it down the sidewalk, laughing. 

"Don't worry, I'll catch it!" she called behind her.

Gentleman he was, Charlie let his song bird have the headstart to collect her heels, then immediately began after her, whooping and crowing. 

Good nights weren't remotely uncommon between the two of them, but they each knew how to make the best of one regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask me about the layers. I'll give you one, as a treat. 
> 
> Francine only uses the nickname cowboy for Charlie when she's gonna ride him till he taps out/says mercy. He is well aware of this and is Very enthusiastic about the matter. Fun!


End file.
